Friday, August 20, 2004

Almost time

My plane to Motherland will be taking off, if weather permits, in exactly 5 hours 15 minutes.
It has been more than 14 months since my last visit, and I do miss the thick dusty humid atmosphere of Beirut. It's like a sour taste that burns your palate, but you just can't help liking it, because you were born with it and it has become a part of you. Like a birthmark almost. It's ugly. But it's you.

Land of my birth
I take the storm
To mold your earth
To any form

Land of my life
Land of no grain
I break my knife
And hold my pain

Land of my death
Your hands are numb
Our hands are numb
Hold to your breath
A dawn will break
A day will come


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