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#lebanon
The standards fell the banner torn apart A bitter taste in there mouths The army beaten and broken shields Upon the bloodied battled fields and No more the rally no more the cry Beneath the Lebanese sky and the Enemy bruised and weeping bleed The powerful Lebanese they stand And a heavy price for the enemy and Though shadows loom and hopes recede A different planting a new seed This ending brings a quiet pause To heal and find unspoken laws and The enemy at the gates of Haddatha Southern Lebanon has been beaten and the Lebanese stand tall and proud and victory will echo all around.
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7d ago
May 27, 2026 at 6:15 PM UTC
Enemy Beaten At The Gates of Haddatha.
O city poured from light and vine, where the river hums old secrets to the stones, and balconies lean like lovers over the breath of evening. O city of wine and poetry, bride of the Beqaa Valley, where the mountains teach the air how to remember. I send you a whisper carried on wind, a prayer folded in the wings of dusk. To your people whose hearts are warm as bread from hidden ovens, whose laughter spills like wine from the cup of the mountain May peace walk your streets barefoot, and love sit at every table like an honored guest who never leaves. If distance has made me silent, know this somewhere, in another sky, my heart still turns toward you like a sunflower to its sun. Peace and love.
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Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 4:09 AM UTC
O Zahle
As the plane thundered overhead, the little one smiled—faint, fragile— at last, he thought, help had come. He hungered for bread, for water, for life. He was mistaken. With trembling hands, he lifted his empty plate— but death was what descended. Fire rained from the heavens, hell unleashed upon him, though innocence clothed his soul. And far away, they celebrated. They named him terrorist— a child who only begged for bread. Yes— a terrorist, for daring to be hungry.
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Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 2:12 AM UTC
The Day Help Came
Maybe it's the thrill of instability that makes me hungry for life, hungry for you
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Jul 22, 2025
Jul 22, 2025 at 5:40 AM UTC
Beirut, Lebanon
There is no ceasefire, not in Gaza, not in Lebanon, not in Sudan, but only genocide... aggression... war... blood... slaughter, and pain. The West Bank continues to be under siege... met by tanks, death, threats...   Families are met with bullets to their head. The children are met with amputated limbs. Children are left orphan... and forgotten. Communities are met with too many martyrs to grieve... Where is this ceasefire now? There is bombardment in Yemen too, directed by the West like a true imperialist. If one dare to rise up and resist, are met with an iron fist by the international colonizer community, given consent to **** with no impunity... Dare the amputees speak.... Dare the bullet to the head speak... Dare the orphan speak.... Dare the resistance speak of their own pain... There is no ceasefire, but only genocide.   Where is this so-called ceasefire now? Nowhere in sight.... Where is the anti-war movement? Nowhere in sight..... What happened to the anti-war movement? Nowhere in sight….
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Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 8:07 AM UTC
There is no ceasefire!
If you hear it just once, then it's an air strike. Twice, means it's just a sonic boom. While we wait anxiously, deadly silence fills the room. Those moments in between feel like a lifetime. Especially when someone's life maybe on the line. If we end up hearing the second sound relief fills our hearts, even though they just skipped a pound. For at least we know that 2 sounds are just meant to entice fear. While 1, is meant to tear down maybe a few lives or maybe an entire town. So, with windows open, we wait we hope to hear that second sound.
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Nov 14, 2024
Nov 14, 2024 at 2:48 PM UTC
Sonic Boom
I grab my pencil everyday Shaky hands bring down the lead tip barely touching the paper in anticipation of inspiration Bombs explode outside clouding the sky I call my muses to work but they fail to clock in because the road between the heart and the mind has been bombed
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Oct 18, 2024
Oct 18, 2024 at 2:10 AM UTC
Bombs & Poems
When a heart forgets how to heart A mind how to mind A logic how to logic A human how to align with all the above
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Oct 3, 2024
Oct 3, 2024 at 5:15 AM UTC
Terror
To the (ad)ventures about to happen I can't wait to skip you to the best ------------ 5 4 3 2 1 Skip Ad
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Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 1:34 AM UTC
I Work in Advertising
I have developed the need to rely on dramatic events to find a purpose
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Oct 9, 2020
Oct 9, 2020 at 9:04 AM UTC
Lebanese 2020
Even the ink in my quill dried out after they burned my muse
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Sep 15, 2020
Sep 15, 2020 at 9:18 AM UTC
Beirut Under Flames
I can't breath I n        e            e            d  m       y         s       p         a      c       e nexttomykinthatcloseside|by|side as we CAPITALIZE ON RE(FORMING x BUILDING) THE CAPITAL that's sulking in d e                                             r                          b                                      i s hold me I am sssshhhhaaakkkkiiiinnggggg with RAGE here, let me help... lights match here's the wick eXXXXXpl \O/ D E on the ____________ ------------- ___streets____ wipe out the gunk stomp them under your feet It's TIME FOR BEIRUT
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Aug 14, 2020
Aug 14, 2020 at 6:20 AM UTC
"Thawra" Means Revolution in Arabic
sick of all the games everyone plays, and all the rules I have to abide to, sick of all the things I need to do, and all the times I must silence myself away, sick of going through the hardships just to enjoy the good times for a little while, sick of proving to others my success, my self-love, my worth, sick of stressing about life before it happens, and forgetting to just live.
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Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 12:28 AM UTC
so sick, became neyo
“In sickness and in health till death do us part” She exploded in my heart threw me off my feet Across a living room filled with nights only she can host I spoke of her to those across the world who will never experience what it is to fall for a city it is beyond patriotism this ineffable love for a sleepless phenomenon who homes strangers shook the world with shockwaves that equaled the chemical imbalance its people have for their city Under the debris of sparkling glass she was broken   there’s so much she can withstand even when we always stand by her side shards engrave themselves under thick skin poking at the body that still believes in love at first breath At a heart that does not know how to stop At a will-power that questions its creator about its strength At a body that homes an identity beyond this world alien to it toxicity hovered in lungs And across skies blushing clouds turning them pink Sunset wasn’t serene The ocean cradled bodies on their way to the afterlife They cried salty tears Fed up. Her soil has felt the stomping anger of grieving mothers, fathers, husbands families the last words of suffocating victims who never lost hope till The angels opened the doors of the sky To welcome new brave souls into the heavens to lead by example their white coffins wed the earth with the skies they watch over us Brooms brushed her face Hands held others Homes homed Revolutionists revolted Nooses were hung judgment day is knocking at our hearts and mind you, we are known for our hospitality She cannot cry She never did It never suited her But she sure knows how to roar how to devour parasites feeding at her immortality I wear your ring around my finger “In sickness and in health till nothing does us part”
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Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 2:23 AM UTC
Beirut, I Thee Wed
“In sickness and in health till death do us part” She exploded in my heart threw me off my feet Across a living room filled with nights only she can host I spoke of her to those across the world who will never experience what it is to fall for a city it is beyond patriotism this ineffable love for a sleepless phenomenon who homes strangers shook the world with shockwaves that equaled the chemical imbalance its people have for their city Under the debris of sparkling glass she was broken   there’s so much she can withstand even when we always stand by her side shards engrave themselves under thick skin poking at the body that still believes in love at first breath At a heart that does not know how to stop At a will-power that questions its creator about its strength At a body that homes an identity beyond this world alien to it toxicity hovered in lungs And across skies blushing clouds turning them pink Sunset wasn’t serene The ocean cradled bodies on their way to the afterlife They cried salty tears Fed up. Her soil has felt the stomping anger of grieving mothers, fathers, husbands families the last words of suffocating victims who never lost hope till The angels opened the doors of the sky To welcome new brave souls into the heavens to lead by example their white coffins wed the earth with the skies they watch over us Brooms brushed her face Hands held others Homes homed Revolutionists revolted Nooses were hung judgment day is knocking at our hearts and mind you, we are known for our hospitality She cannot cry She never did It never suited her But she sure knows how to roar how to devour parasites feeding at her immortality I wear your ring around my finger “In sickness and in health till nothing does us part”
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62
A symphony for Baghdad: Words in crimson On flimsy placards Held high with anger Frustration writ On their ragged features. The law is hard but it is the law Says the hypocritical politician Who bends them all “Enough is enough”, the people said Teargas and bullets will not make us sway Release your bombs and fire your bullets, Let our blood water this holy ground Our motherland But we will not let you stay. Centuries have passed Since Sheherezade told her tale Years have passed since Aladdin’s magic lamp First touched the minds of the young ones. Is it a surprise that the young are dead? Baghdad has fallen Prey to the hands of those Who support murdering their brethren and children. The sun rose and set The numbers went from thirty to three hundred And no one cared. Winners in Baghdad these days are those Who returns home from the protests Wearing a necklace of half a metal heart for a pendant Knowing the other half was lost to the bullets. They share stories of passion and fury To hide the void within Their hope, their faith, lost. Their sacrifices in vain. The protests grow old With news, numbers and names of the players Of this sick, faux patriotic game. Lebanon: The Chaos has affected them far too long They now out there looking for peace and hope to now spread out more Havoc almost birthed, they circle and stop the creation Letting the higher-ups know Who brings the forth the negatives and hurt Food and shelter provided Streets cleaned and maintained for use by all Wish the world could learn how to function together like this Imagine a world where Little children are smiling, greeting other children from different countries and cultures Living and playing together without a worry in the world Men and women living in harmony and happiness Peace an actuality in the world But that’s only in your head In reality Little children are bombed and interrupted by death Men rather **** the women and **** or shoot down the men that don’t agree with or are against them Peace is being held on a leash by Chaos That’s happening in front of your eyes And right now, you’re probably just gonna read it, like it and move on, but nope. I see people sharing More is needed to be done As I said, I and my friends are bringing the tools All you have to do is use them properly If you really want to see peace, you’ll know what to do I know what I’m doing Perspective I gained And now I’m making sure it happens.
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Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 11:51 AM UTC
Bleeding Peace
A symphony for Baghdad: Words in crimson On flimsy placards Held high with anger Frustration writ On their ragged features. The law is hard but it is the law Says the hypocritical politician Who bends them all “Enough is enough”, the people said Teargas and bullets will not make us sway Release your bombs and fire your bullets, Let our blood water this holy ground Our motherland But we will not let you stay. Centuries have passed Since Sheherezade told her tale Years have passed since Aladdin’s magic lamp First touched the minds of the young ones. Is it a surprise that the young are dead? Baghdad has fallen Prey to the hands of those Who support murdering their brethren and children. The sun rose and set The numbers went from thirty to three hundred And no one cared. Winners in Baghdad these days are those Who returns home from the protests Wearing a necklace of half a metal heart for a pendant Knowing the other half was lost to the bullets. They share stories of passion and fury To hide the void within Their hope, their faith, lost. Their sacrifices in vain. The protests grow old With news, numbers and names of the players Of this sick, faux patriotic game. Lebanon: The Chaos has affected them far too long They now out there looking for peace and hope to now spread out more Havoc almost birthed, they circle and stop the creation Letting the higher-ups know Who brings the forth the negatives and hurt Food and shelter provided Streets cleaned and maintained for use by all Wish the world could learn how to function together like this Imagine a world where Little children are smiling, greeting other children from different countries and cultures Living and playing together without a worry in the world Men and women living in harmony and happiness Peace an actuality in the world But that’s only in your head In reality Little children are bombed and interrupted by death Men rather **** the women and **** or shoot down the men that don’t agree with or are against them Peace is being held on a leash by Chaos That’s happening in front of your eyes And right now, you’re probably just gonna read it, like it and move on, but nope. I see people sharing More is needed to be done As I said, I and my friends are bringing the tools All you have to do is use them properly If you really want to see peace, you’ll know what to do I know what I’m doing Perspective I gained And now I’m making sure it happens.
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66
My name is intangible, its recited or sung, a verse from old folk poetry or the beautiful Quran. I’m remembered when a Zajjalin sings, words of poetry, rhythms and feelings. I'm the makeup of things whether suppressive or freeing and the concrete emotions that a poet leaves ringing. My name is the voices of change in Lebanon’s civil war. A wounded country where the people is its soul. I was the hope and granddaughter my grandfather wished to call. I carry the name proudly waiting for Lebanon’s sun to return home.
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May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 5:58 AM UTC
My Name is ...
Lebanon, Never forget You'll always be my Valentine
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Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 3:19 AM UTC
A Love Note To
It's like I summon the universe now we talk at night meet for coffee and sometimes he surprises me when I think he doesn't listen
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Jan 14, 2020
Jan 14, 2020 at 3:10 AM UTC
Listen
Darling, Scream Burn Roar Stomp Re-ignite the Revolution in my belly my butterflies are hungry starving for you Scream Burn Roar Stomp
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Jan 9, 2020
Jan 9, 2020 at 4:25 AM UTC
Summon the Revolution
Resolutions are outdated.
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Jan 3, 2020
Jan 3, 2020 at 5:18 AM UTC
DAILIES
Her. “Good Morning gorgeous” echoes down the hall her voice altered into a decibel that she created a clear tone only meant to the one who knows I have looked at her for 27 years and counting, I witnessed growth naturally aligned with her stars never gone astray with a mind for a compass a heart to balance and a body to embrace those who need Her strength bewitched me from mishaps to miracles her legs never failed her from tree climbing to moving houses from cartwheels to driving in foggy weather Her courage moved me from enduring unfairness to teaching about fairness her rationale calmed me and it was when she carried her baby that I felt mother nature adopt her into motherhood blessing her with power unknown to man with endurance with love, with intensified fountains of love, waterfalling everyday every night into her baby’s heart filling her with a glow only she knows how to grow I saw her in a different light with her own world between her arms marveling at the strength that body has to carry and nourish She has become a mother even though from time to time I still steal a glance at the sister I knew but I, now, am the proud sister of a mother.
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Dec 23, 2019
Dec 23, 2019 at 5:43 AM UTC
HER.
Can my muses be revolting with my sisters while my pencil carves its sorrows on papers wet with tears?
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Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 3:04 AM UTC
Lebanon 2019
Empowering to raise generations & I am proof
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Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 7:44 AM UTC
Father