I accidentally stumbled upon this poem again today. The first time I came across it was in 2005, when I was visiting a dear friend of mine in Beirut a couple of weeks after Hariri’s assassination. I can’t believe how true these words are still today.
Pity the Nation
Pity the nation that is full of beliefs and emty of religion.
Pity the nation that wears a cloth it does not weave, eats a bread it does not harvest, and drinks a wine that flows not from its own wine-press.
Pity the nation that acclaims the bull as hero, and that deems the glittering conqueror bountiful.
Pity the nation whose statesman is a fox, whose philosopher is a juggler, and whose art is the art of patching and mimicking.
Pity the nation whose sages are dumb with years and whose strong men are yet in the cradle.
Khalil Gibran
The Garden of the Prophet (1934)
