Nostalgia

I have a strange feeling I have longing for all the unreachable things Faraway places. And old times A longing for the details of my childhood For the face of my father; the mole on his cheek The voice of Fairouz in the morning I miss Hasbaya; Saraya and the family Old Beirut, with its ancient streets and antique brick homes And maybe I miss the sounds of bullets and shells that were pouring down on us like the rains of winter When some people decided to practice their rituals over our heads Giving birth to a generations of apostates I miss all what I do not see, the homelands I did not visit and the houses I did not enter Letters I did not write. Arts I did not practice Longing for every unknown. I  miss a homeland, where nobody asks me of my sects or ideology A homeland where people believe me when I answer; I do not belong to anyone and my religious is only for me I miss people of unbreakable glass   Honest tongues that never flatter others to draw their admiration Or to be familiar with its peers And in the end, I certainly miss myself I miss chasing Rima and being chased by her