A dream...

I have a recurrent dream, in which I am holding my ten years old daughter’s hand, walking… I would point to buildings, like my father did in 1990 and I tell her “this was the Place de l’etoile, there were many restaurants here. I used to love to sit in one of the many café around the square and watch people from all over the world pass by”

Walking future I would say “ here we went out on our first date , your mother and me” and then I smiled as I remembered another joyful memory, of my foolish, care free years, when we used to go out in Down Town and get so drunk.

She giggled softly “here? But it is only rubble”

Smiling sadly I nodded, “Yes, only rubble. But mixed with so much passion, with so much joy, and with so much blood”, I whispered.

My legs went on step by bloody step, almost against my will, into that great square. And tears started to flow from my eyes... In the middle stood a white pedestal, empty like the soul of my country, and there my heart broke down.

“Why are you crying dad? What happened here?”

“It is here we had our greatest victory and greatest defeat. It is here that our dream was born, but swiftly killed, when we left we each went our own way and nothing change...”

Leaving the destroyed heart of my beloved Beirut, I drove home, through war torn houses and street filled with rubble.

I drove and drove going nowhere,for this country has no future only a past...