I’m from the land of balconies and terraces

Echoing heart-break ballads,

Fayrooz and Tom Jones.

Poetic fish-mongers and rhyming fruitcart-vendors

Serenading nannies and cooks,

Proclaiming their wares.

I’m from breakfast on-the-go,

Tangy manaeesh sandwiches and labneh roll-ups,

From juicy shawarma lunches

And piping hot falafel

Grease spotting my

Almost empty paper bag.

I’m from “yalla imshe” and “bookra bookra,”

Of backgammon and hooka sidewalks

Uniformed schoolgirls swinging bookbags,

Furtive, suggestive glances.

I’m from terraced mountains

Draped with wildflower tablecloths,

Anchored by fruit and olive orchards.

Bittersweet coffee cups telling fortunes

With upraised red-lacquered pinky fingers

And jangling bangles.

I’m from saints and sheiks,

Nuns and prophets,

Preaching Allah knows best and

Mary understands.

Does He hear our plight?

I’m from spice markets and herb gardens,

Gnarly grape vines curling up,

Scarlet show-off bougainvillea

stretching out, over, and around,

Of tomato slices as big as my head

Drizzled with liquid gold olive oil

Honey drenched pastries

Daisy necklaces and double-cherry boutonnieres.

I’m from church bells answering minaret calls to prayer,

Celebrating holy birthdays and fasting prayers.

Kahlil Gibran mourning…..

The pure and simple, the majestic and rugged

Lebanon of our youth,

The land of Biblical Cedar Forests and Roman temple ruins.

I was born here, but live there

Refugeed from here,

Yet, vanquished to there.

Wrenched from,

Deposited into,

A sojourner, an immigrant.

Where are you from?