Eddy the Jeweler
 Eddy in Gemayzeh,
 Sits at his green marble desk,
 In the tiny thimble,
 Of his Jeweller’s shop,
 Every day, all day,
 For forty years,
 In the streets of Beirut.
 It can rain outside,
 Raindrops or bullets,
 Sun or shells can fall.
 And he is there,
 Selling rings,
 And necklaces,
 As people marry,
 Or come of age,
 Or die outside.
 The exchange rate,
 Marked on his wall,
 Is all that changed,
 It used to be,
 Three to the dollar,
 Now it is 1500.
 But otherwise,
 As Beirut has changed,
 Torn itself apart,
 And rebuilt outside,
 Changed everything,
 But its name,
 Inside Eddy’s jeweller,
 Beirut has stayed the same.