Lament For Lebanon Poem by GORDON GILHULY

on the river-fed high plateau of Beqaa, summer tomatoes

hang like liquid fire in the early morning mist

O the winds



blind-eyed potatoes lie in their rich beds, waiting

for the touch of hands that will set them free

O the winds of war



summer's golden sun stands transfixed and ripe

on slender stalks, offering themselves to the blade

Blow it all away



the mountains, pleased with themselves, have gathered

the whiteness of the clouds to their breasts;

have scraped the sky to childhood blue;

and the blood-red grapes hang heavy on the vine

O the winds of war blow it all away



here is the city of the sun, Heliopolis, raising its cracked

and pitted fingers to the ancient gods of Phoenicia and Rome

O the winds



stone supplications to Venus Bacchus and lord Jupiter

offer forgotten prayers for sun and wine and love

O the winds of war



here the land is still sacred, here the old songs are still sung

only the omnipotent gods have changed

Blow it all away



the farmers, pleased with themselves, have gathered

their fruits, winnowed their grain, sweated under an august sun;

slept and dreamed of bread and wine

and the well-fed silences of little children

O the winds of war blow it all away



O the winds of war blow it all away