18/09/2026
Fairouz: The Flavor of Morning and Evening
On a morning like this, you might need a cup of tea, but you also need an angelic voice to illuminate your heart and open your eyes, a voice that transports you to another world, a world of life where all beings smile, the world of Fairouz, which paints our mornings with more vitality and warmth. You might wake up this morning to many sounds, sounds of no benefit, but you will only smile to the sound of Fairouz's voice.
The Fairouz who sang for Beirut is the same one who sang for the sun this morning: "The sun has risen, how beautiful its light is, the sun of suns" [1]. How beautiful you are, Fairouz, the person/voice! How beautiful you are, "O you who lean on the branches, my eyes are dark, O fairy!"
I couldn't imagine mornings and evenings without you, Fairouz, so I am "writing your name... on the sand of the road." Because "my acquaintance with you came with sadness... it wasn't natural," I will continue to love you in "summer" and "winter," even if "my city extinguishes its lamp and is left alone in the evening."
Fairouz is the language of morning and evening, the language of beautiful things, things that strive to paint the features of light and radiance in our darkened hearts, our hearts intoxicated with the love of Fairouz. Forgive me, "daughter of Shalabiya," because "the sweet heart is not quenched, and its promises are not fulfilled."
I might listen to Fairouz this morning at home, on the neighbor's radio, or in the street, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that I am listening to her singing in her angelic voice, "Our Journey to This World," or
Give me the flute and sing, for singing is the secret of existence.
And the flute's lament remains after existence has vanished.
If only you knew, Fairouz, about the "Flower of the South," whose fragrance and beauty have become likened to the "Flower of Cities." How beautiful is that elegant flower, which has become a symbol of the blossoms of "the last days of summer," still standing with the pride of victory.
"You can forget," my beloved ones, all that "the enemy said" about "the sad nights of the North" and the northern atmosphere that always urges us to persevere. But you cannot forget "the roar of the bus."
Many times, "something is happening" around us, Fairouz, starting with "My Acquaintance with You," which was under unusual circumstances, passing through "Our Strange Names," and ending with the sad "Farewell Song." Therefore, I no longer remember which evening "my tormentor came," for all I remember is that she "knocked on my chest," saying, "Stop, my dark-skinned one," and "You're still on my mind." And I know that "my sadness with you has lasted a long time." But that doesn't matter, for I am "coming back," no matter how much "people ask me about you, my love."
Even if they fabricated countless lies and said about us, "We used to meet," "on the paths of love," "on the almond bridge," or "above those hills," there is no longer room for separation in our hearts, nor for moments of sadness, nor even for tears of despair. All that remains is a fragmented image of memories of an angelic voice, painting breathtakingly beautiful pictures, pictures resembling Yara's shawl.
"Oh moon, you and I," on this turquoise evening, "will stay together," like two "who love each other." The important thing is, "I love you, I don't know" why or "how much."
=3=
Forgive me, dear readers, but the "rehearsal" of the luminous scene of "The Girl from Aleppo" takes me beyond my current state. It takes me beyond that "distant mountain," the mountain behind which lovers hide.
Everything invites us to return to beautiful childhood, innocent childhood, and everything compels us to fall in love with this turquoise. How clear and bright the morning is, and how melodious the birdsong is, yet it doesn't resemble your voice, Fairouz. And how long the distance is to Aleppo, the city of love, "Oh you who are going to Aleppo, my love goes with you." And how I feel you are packing your bags now to travel towards Aleppo, towards Fairouz, the meaning, Fairouz, the voice.
"Oh bird," you alone can reach Beirut and its distant hills, and you can carry our messages there: "Oh bird, tell them." "He whose beloved is not with him; he is in pain but does not speak of his pain."
Smile, Fairouz. We savor the melodies of your sweet voice. We fall asleep to the whispers of your gentle songs, and we wake to the rhythm of your voice that flows through our minds like water, quenching our thirst with its dewy, tranquil tones, planting within us the values of love and the beauty of life.
This is how we always grow up with the voice of Fairouz. We drank her voice in our childhood, and we drink it now. We drink it every morning with our cups of tea, and we drink it every evening before bed. We cannot live without listening to Fairouz.
"Tick, tick, tick, Umm Ziad." Your throne is steadfast and unmoving. Your voice resonates throug.
