To Beirut لبيروت

'Some cities seem forever doomed.'

So writes prominent journalist Robert Fisk in a heartfelt tribute to Beirut, a city he says has suffered one disaster after another through history, but which has risen each time, like a phoenix 'whose plumage was so brightly coloured that it blinded its own people.'

Some may dismiss Fisk's "elegy" as nothing more than a one-sided denunciation of Israel, veiled by emotion and deliberately ignorant of Israel's own suffering. But when a city and in fact a whole nation lies crippled the way Beirut and Lebanon are today, we question how a world that claims to hold human rights so sacred lets such tragedies endure.

Fisk ends his piece with the opening words of one of my favourite songs by Lebanese singing legend Fairouz.

To Beirut لبيروت

لبيروت
من قلبي سلامٌ لبيروت
وقُبلٌ للبحروالبيوت

لصخرةٍ كأنها وجه بحارٍ قديمِ
هي من روحِ الشعب خمرٌ
هي من عرقِهِ خبزٌ وياسمين
فكيف صار طعمها طعم نارٍ ودخانِ

Peace to Beirut with all my heart
And kisses — to the sea and clouds [sic],
To the rock of a city that looks like an old sailor's face.
From the soul of her people she makes wine,
From their sweat, she makes bread and jasmine.
So how did it come to taste of smoke and fire?

Perhaps appropriate at this time, words of Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani from his poem Beirut, Lady of the World:

يا ستَّ الدنيا يا بيروتْ
قومي من تحتِ الرَدمِ، كزهرةِ لوزٍ في نيسانْ
قومي من حُزنكِ
إنَّ الثورةَ تولدُ من رحمِ الأحزانْ
قومي أكراماً للغاباتِ
وللأنهارِ
وللوديانِ
قومي إكراماً للإنسانْ

Beirut, lady of the world..
Rise from beneath the debris, like the almond flower in April.
Rise above your sorrow..
It is but sorrow that bears the seed of revolution.
Rise in honour of the forests..
And the rivers..
And the valleys..
Rise in honour of the people...