Bare Roots
 Beirut stands there,
 Resplendent in its present,
 Its intense moments,
 Form a canopy,
 A present above you,
 Like a cedar,
 Which shades you,
 From the burning sun,
 Of its past.
 As you walk its streets,
 Those streets,
 Where your path,
 Is never the same,
 Where you are always,
 You see a second tree,
 Beneath your feet,
 Beirut roots.
 How do we follow,
 The never-ending story,
 Of its streets,
 Take its photo,
 Write Beirut a poem,
 When under our feet,
 Under its streets,
 Beneath its moments,
 We walk on tangled,
 Beirut’s bare roots.