My sister is currently studying for her 4th degree in English literature. One of the assignments is to write a poem about where she is from. Here it is:
My heart belongs to the land of the Cedars,
the Cedars of God.
My heart belongs to where the sun kisses the Mediterranean goodnight
and the moon embraces the snowy mountain tips.
My heart belongs to a city that refuses to die,
a city like a Sphinx that rose seven times from the depths.
My heart belongs to a city ravaged by pain,
bloody pavements, bombed homes, screaming widows, and wailing orphans.
My heart belongs to a home filled with memories,
memories of peels of laughter around a burning fire,
memories of celebrations, of food, of music, of love.
My heart belongs to a grandma wrapped in black,
forever mourning the bloody murder of a husband and a son.
My heart belongs to a mother who fought to keep us alive,
but died too soon.
Yes, my heart belongs there,
where I no longer can be.