post 283/365
Food in any culture, and especially in the Middle Eastern culture, has its own unifying language. It brings people and families together over a hot feast expressing affection and a certain transcendent expertise in cookery.
Author: karenkaram
The Land of Fruits and Vegetables
post 282/365
The light dusting of snow on the roofs and on the leaves of confused budding plants lightly fall through sepia skies. The otherworldly glow of the final throes of a dying sunlight lights up this sleepy town. In summer the air is crisp and nature revels in its expected garden state while in winter thick snow covers the hills with a hand of white as skiers fill its ski slopes gliding from where the air is icy and brittle and serenity flows calmly unnoticed to where mechanical lifts are busy getting people from one place to another, two separate worlds a couple of minutes apart.
Lady Gaga of the Middle East
post 281/365
Over the years, El Lady Madonna has carved out a special position on the local and Arab music scene with her spectacular shows and upbeat stage presence. Years before Lady Gaga was notoriously famous for her music and specially fashion sense, we in Lebanon, had our own fashionista.
Along the Open Plains
post 280/365
I trace the lay lines from mountain peak to shaded valley via open plains, lined poplar trees and scattered land, as blue skies and crimson sunset’s smile turns to laughter. In these wild open fields where the grass turns brown in spots, there are wild flowers and dozens of scattered pebbles and grass under our feet. Bare trees with bend trunks; a cool breeze washes my face, as suddenly there are no umbrella trees to relief me from the rays of the sun. At night across the sky the stars align and if you look close enough you can see the stellar installation of this world’s cosmos. Indeed Taanayel is a world apart, as it is left to nature’s own devices.
Service!
The Middle Eastern Garden
post 278/365
I hear leaves drinking rain;
I hear rich leaves on top
Giving the poor beneath
Drop after drop;
‘Tis a sweet noise to hear
These green leaves drinking near.
And when the Sun comes out,
After this Rain shall stop,
A wondrous Light will fill
Each dark, round drop;
I hope the Sun shines bright;
‘Twill be a lovely sight.
(The Rain by William Henry Davies)
“Heyshlee Barbara”
post 277/365
“Barbara the beautiful
Had praise of lute and pen:
Her hair was like a summer night
Dark and desired of men.
Her feet like birds from far away
That linger and light in doubt;
And her face was like a window
Where a man’s first love looked out.
Her sire was master of many slaves
A hard man of his hands;
They built a tower about her
In the desolate golden lands,
Sealed as the tyrants sealed their tombs,
Planned with an ancient plan,
And set two windows in the tower
Like the two eyes of a man…”
(The Ballad of St. Barbara by Gilbert Keith Chesterton)
The Moon, the Neighbors, and Us
post 276/365
To eternally perform, to create a role, practicing the dreams of a life, is a talent that they share with their public. Revolutionary works, purposefulness, in that moment the viewer and the artists are entwined. Their realty in the grasp of the setting, the performers drift between reality and fiction. Their courage floods in waves as the artists voice powers underneath opaque blue skies. Light dangling from one building to the other in between broken down stairs and rooftops overlooking the sea. On this night we are all but one, rich, poor, young, and old. We are humans existing in a realm created by this wondrous group of artists taking us on an unusual journey through the passageways of the neighborhood.
The Hands that Weave
post 275/365
Lazy afternoon rays shaft through spring’s full trees. The wind cuts laterally leaving the sea. Through deck lattice, the grass weaves a tartan plaid. Electric lines, old stone two stories houses, and blossoming crops create a setting where weavers weave as their fingers entwine baskets to collect what is left from our land.
The Valley of Many Names
post 274/365
No matter what happens,
No matter the forsaken grief that envelopes your heart and your being as you endeavor to live
Always remember to walk in the valley of life and to acknowledge all who have walked here and all who are yet to tread upon this sacred ground
We all must make this trek
But to all who have tread before us and to all who are yet to promenade through in the wake of what trailblazing we leave behind
We must always remember to walk in the valley of life, to keep it alive, for it holds a collective memory of a nation.
365 Days of Lebanon 