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,
 Discovering.
 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.