Chapter 7 You have your Lebanon, I have mine

You have your Lebanon and I have mine. You have your Lebanon and its problems, I have mine and its beauty. You have your Lebanon with all its aims and purposes, and I have mine with all its dreams and hopes. You have your Lebanon, please be satisfied with it; I have my Lebanon, only be satisfied with the absolute purity. Your Lebanon is a political deadlock that time is trying to unravel; my Lebanon is a towering mountain that pierces into the blue sky. Your Lebanon is a chessboard for religious leaders and military commanders; my Lebanon is a temple that I enter with my soul when I see the face of civilization on wheels.

Your Lebanon is two: the one who pays and the one who receives; my Lebanon is one: he leans his arm before the cedar, and he renounces everything but God and the sun. Your Lebanon is port, post, trade; my Lebanon is distant thoughts, passionate feelings, the sacred language that the earth speaks softly in the ear of the sky. Your Lebanon is the clerk, the worker, the manager; my Lebanon is the ambition of youth, the resolution of middle age, and the wisdom of old age. Your Lebanon is all sorts of delegations, committees; mine is fireside parties on blustery, snowy nights. Your Lebanon is full of sects and political parties; my Lebanon is teenagers climbing rocks, chasing streams, and playing ball in squares.

Your Lebanon is speeches, reports, debates; mine is the whistle of the black roc, the rustling of poplars and holly-pepper branches, the echo of pipes and scales floating in caves. Your Lebanon is a lie covered under the veil of false wisdom, a hypocrisy hidden under the cloak of imitation and embellishment; my Lebanon is a simple and exposed truth. expression. Your Lebanon is laws, clauses on paper, contracts and contracts in files; my Lebanon is an endowment in the mystery of life, which does not know that it already knows all about it; The thoughts on the edge of the nether world, it thought it was still in a dream.

Your Lebanon is an old man with a beard in his hands, frowning brows, and only cares about himself; my Lebanon is a young man who stands tall like a tower, smiles like morning, and thinks of others as himself. Your Lebanon and Syria are in harmony with each other at different times, and they are at odds with each other; my Lebanon is incompatible, neither arrogant nor humble. You have your Lebanon and I have mine. You have your Lebanon and her children, and I have my Lebanon and her children. My God, who are your sons of Lebanon? Why not take a look, take a look, and let me show you what they really are:

Their souls were born in Western hospitals. Their minds are opened in the arms of the greedy who play the role of the generous. They are weak branches that sway right and left, but have no will; tremble day and night, but don't know it. Such is a ship they are: it battles the wind and the waves, but has neither rudder nor sail, its captain is indecisive, and its port is the Devil's Den. —Oh, aren't all the capitals of Europe devil's dens? They are eloquent and eloquent strong men, but this only shows among themselves; in front of foreigners, they are dumb and soft. They are passionate liberals, reformists, and reformers, but they only publish in their newspapers and pulpits; in front of Westerners, they are obsequious and obedient conservatives.

They are the ones who clamor like frogs, saying "we have rid ourselves of our cruel old enemy".But their brutal nemesis still lurks within them. They are people who play and dance in front of the funeral procession, but when they meet the welcoming procession, their playing turns into mourning and weeping, and their dancing turns into beating their breasts and feet. They only know purse hunger, and as soon as they meet a spiritual hunger they laugh at him, turning away saying, "It's but a knight wandering in a dream world!" They are slaves who think themselves absolutely free when the years replace their rusty shackles with shining shackles.

These are your sons of Lebanon.Who among them can represent the will in the rocks of Lebanon?The nobility in the majestic?Sweetness in the spring?Fragrance in the air?Who among them dares to say: "If I die, the country I leave behind will be a little better than the country I saw when I was born." Who among them dares to say: "My life was in the veins of Lebanon a drop of blood, a tear from between her eyelids or a smile from the corner of her mouth." These are your sons of Lebanon.How tall they are in your eyes!How small they are in my eyes! But wait a minute, and let me tell you about my sons and daughters of Lebanon:

They are the farmers who turn wastelands into gardens or orchards; They are shepherds who drive their flocks from one hill to another, and the sheep grow and multiply, and provide you with meat for food and wool for clothing; They are the gardeners of the vineyard, who press the grapes into sour juice, and distill the nectar into honey; They are the father who grows mulberry and raises silkworms, and the mother who weaves silk; They are the husbands who reap the harvest, and the wives who gather the wood; They are masons, potters, weavers and bell-makers; They were poets who poured their souls into new cups, simple nature singers of ballads;

They are the ones who left Lebanon with passion in their hearts and will in their arms and returned with the riches of the earth in their hands and laurels on their heads; They are the ones who conquer the environment wherever they go and win hearts wherever they appear; They are men who were born in low huts and died in the halls of science.These are the sons and daughters of Lebanon; they are the lamps that cannot be blown out, and the salt that never perishes; They are those who walk with firm steps toward truth, beauty, and perfection. What will be left of your Lebanon and your Lebanese sons in a hundred years?Tell me, what do you leave for tomorrow but loose words, lies and stupidity?Do you think time will keep flattery and deceit in its memory?

Do you think time stores in its pockets the shadow of death and the breath of the grave?Do you think that life will cover its naked body with tattered clothes?I say to you—the facts bear witness to me: "The olive tree that the peasants plant in the foothills of Lebanon will outlast all that you have done and will do; More glorious and noble than all your hopes and aspirations! I say to you, the conscience of all things hears me: the song of the bean-pickers on the Lebanese plateau will be louder than the most dignified and grandest of your babbles More alive! Let me tell you, you are insignificant, and if you knew you were insignificant, my dislike for you would turn into a kind of sympathy and pity, but you don't know it.

You have your Lebanon and I have mine. You have your Lebanon and her children, and if you can be content with an empty bubble, be content with it and them!And I am content with my Lebanon and her children; and in my contentment there is sweetness, peace and ease. the earth The earth bursts unwillingly from the earth, Then the earth, triumphant upon the earth, swaggers, The earth builds palaces, towers, and temples on the earth, The earth created myths and laws on the earth, Afterwards, the earth got tired of the work of the earth, and used the aura of the earth to weave phantoms and fantasies.clear dream. After that, the sleepiness of the earth tempted the eyelids of the earth, so she fell asleep and slept peacefully.Deep and long. Then the earth called to the earth and said, "I am the womb, and I am the grave. I will be so forever, until the stars die and the sun is ashes."