Even Geneva
On the ground,
Lebanon is squeezed in,
Between two neighbours,
Syria and Israel,
And the tides of the sea.
But from Mount Lebanon,
From the wind and skies,
From the canopy,
The summit of the cedar,
Lebanon borders the whole world.
The cedar of Lebanon,
Looks to New York,
Paris, Casablanca,
Dubai, London,
And even Geneva,
It looks to the sky.
Four hours in the sky,
And you are freely,
In or out of place,
Or like the wind,
You live in-between,
Always checked in.
Geneva and Beirut,
Are like the hot and cold,
Of their ancient thought.
Ginger to cucumber,
Cherry to pear,
Walnuts to pomegranate.
Geneva and Beirut,
Keep you in balance,
Of peace and noise,
Rules and chaos,
Mountains and skyscrapers,
Sun and November.
Yet beneath the surface,
They have both had,
Their civil wars,
Religious conflicts,
And rebirths.
Beirut and Geneva,
Are closer than one thinks.
But for the moment,
To many Lebanese,
They provide the balance,
The hot and cold,
Through which Beirut,
Borders the whole world.