If Beirut could speak
By Myriam A.H.K.
I am mourning.
I am tired, hurt and broken.
They hit me to the core… they murdered my children.
From brave warriors who spilled their blood in my name, to neighbors, visitors and friends who enjoyed my hospitality… They all lost their lives in vain. It’s devastating.
I am speechless,
I’m weak and heartbroken… some may say powerless.
I was supposed to offer my people a safe place they call home. Under my wings and reign where justice, equality, peace and bliss should co-exist … Isn’t that what every queen thrives for? Isn’t that what every mother wishes for?
I am on a slow path to recovery but hope and faith will get me there.
I shall rise again… I promise you that.
I am grateful, to all those who stood by me and helped me pick myself up and clean my wounds.
I am grateful, to all those who offered my children shelter, food and medical aid while I recover from my own injuries and traumas.
I am angry… and furious at those hateful sinners, for the massacres and pain that was inflicted on my family.
I survived many wars, and I am still here to remind you that this wasn’t the first time I get attacked by envious souls and it surely won’t be the first time I rise from the ashes.
With that being said I pray… oh yes, I pray… that this shall be the last.