In Lebanon where I lived for a short period there were lovely Snobar Cedars, which grew predominantly in Lebanon. We could see them all around and I would often retreat beneath their shade for an afternoon get-away or a picnic. I would sometimes talk to the trees (and yes, I am a little odd) and could imagine our discussions had I been able to hear their voices. I'm sure we have all heard of the phrase, "oh, if walls could talk". I applied this phrase to the cedars which rested on the hills around me and wondered what these trees might have said as they looked over the horizon of a war-torn country; forever changed by unfortunate hatred and misunderstanding.

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blackbirds and bullets ravens and rockets swirl in my head dizzying my senses they keep me from sleeping long into the pitch of night my branches heavy weary from protecting the young lovers gathering near my feet etched into my body their names fade an indefinite memory i see their hiding place on the distant hill more have come others have gone i remain snobars snobars they cry with false hope yet i am left only with my rings rings of years tales of borrowed time shouting blowing through the wind a whispered melody majnun and laila beckon me to shield them from an encircling hate i despise their freedom

i tower above others and therefore I must surely commune with god yet i am only the cedar ever green lacking affection never knowing the ecstasy of change nor the repeating seasons of death of life of rebirth stuck on this mountain i am a symbol of time past of time hopeful   a display for the refugee seed is spilled into the ground beneath me nothing ever is born my roots partake in their bittersweet devotion unbeaten by the elements i will nevertheless search for pure water regrettably in a land no longer my own i am the snobar cedar