Unseasonal temperatures

Temperatures are high, way too high

Unseasonal

And my heart bleeds and my mind cries out

We’re already in the middle of winter

And it still is spring

Not the spring of renewal and birth

But a spring of smothering and slow death

The atmosphere is laden with dust and sand

The sun burns my skin

The rain is nowhere to be seen

The soil is desiccating

And mountain tops are bared from snow

Year after year it gets only worse

New temperature records upon new temperature records are set

With little prospect for any improvement

Since the driverless train of global warming has set off already and can’t be stopped

 

When you live on a tiny piece of land called Lebanon

Suspended between mountains and sea

In a limbo between Europe and Africa

Which main wealth is the variety of landscape

And the fragile diversity of vegetal and animal life

Few degrees more can make you topple out of your balance

Few degrees more can bring barrenness and suffocation

When nature before thrived in joyful shades of colors

 

Away from these scientific reasons

What I miss already is the biting coldness of the sea breeze

The rainy days of fall and winter when you sit inside

And read wrapped in a blanket, quietly sipping a cup of tea

Listening to the spattering and drumming of rain on the roof

Watching the dancing trees dripping water on the soil

And smelling the scent of dry earth’s quenched thirst

And sheltering deep inside your blankets when thunderstorms strike

And going out again in Spring and breathing the sense of renewal

That emanates from the light greenness of grass and the budding trees

And the bees and butterflies busy at work around sunny fields of wild flowers

 

 

I write about these things as though they were from the past

But they’re not gone and will never go away

 

Nature around is nothing but a mirror of our soul

We can give it the meaning we wish, we feel like

The scenes I describe perhaps are gone, not because of global warming

But because of my own state of mind

Because with passing years I’ve grown further and further away from my true core

And my sense of childish wonder is buried under layers of gravel

With passing years my free time has grown thin

And I’ve got used to barely going out in the garden

Never to contemplate and run among butterflies and grasshoppers as I used to

Life has become stressful, you see

Each of my minute is counted, programmed

And whenever I have free time I’m at a loss

I’ve forgotten to do things for myself, I’ve forgotten how to ponder and contemplate

How to be, without doing

Society has taught me to do, do, do always do

Why, I’ve forgotten why

Do, do, do, go, come, go, come, always on the move, always on a rush

Never stay idle and sip quietly a cup of coffee and watch the sea and contemplate the play of sunlight and shadow sitting on a wicker chair under a tree

That I know I’d love to do, but now I don’t have the time

And even if I had the time, I don’t have the peace of mind to feel the peacefulness of settings around me

The color explosion of sunset and dawn leave me almost insensitive

I prefer the grayness of my pillow and this state of half-awakedness in which I have drowned