While <a href="https://www.thenationalnews.com/opinion/editorial/2025/04/13/lebanese-civil-war-50-years-middle-east/" target="_blank">Lebanon’s civil war</a> may seem like a distant echo 50 years since it began, the 15-year conflict remains seared in the collective memory of a nation that continues to be resilient in times of turmoil. One expression of that is in the rich body of songs its artists have recorded over the years – works that articulated pain, suffering and hope for a better tomorrow. Many of these songs captured Lebanon’s strife evocatively and, at times, with a dry humour that not only stirred a nation, but continues to be a source of inspiration across the region. Translated to you<i> I Call Upon You</i> and released in 1976, one year after the onset of the war, the song is adapted from a 1966 poem by Palestinian poet and political activist Tawfiq Ziad. The song's call for national unity and resistance against forces seeking to divide society resonated deeply in Lebanon as it entered one of its darkest chapters. “I have not become worthless in my country, nor have I shrunk in fear. I stood in the face of my oppressors – a naked, barefoot orphan,” Kaabour sings over fluttering oud notes. “I’ve carried my blood on my hands and never half-masted my flags. I’ve preserved the green grass on the graves of my ancestors.” In 1976 singer<a href="https://www.thenationalnews.com/arts-culture/2024/05/03/fairouz-abu-dhabi-2006/" target="_blank"> Fairouz</a> delivered this heart-stopping track that argued for a moment of reflection amid the carnage. “I love you Lebanon my country,” the song opens. “They said what goes on in the land of festivals, strewn as it is with fire and dynamite? I said our land is being reborn. The Lebanon of dignity and a people that perseveres. How could I help loving you? Even in your madness I love you.” Through his long association with Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish – from whose work Khalife almost exclusively draws his lyrics – many of <a href="https://www.thenationalnews.com/arts-culture/music/keeping-it-in-the-family-why-marcel-khalife-and-his-son-are-embarking-on-a-bold-new-musical-direction-1.991322" target="_blank">Khalife</a>’s songs, while rooted in Palestine’s quest for self-determination, have also resonated deeply in Lebanon. This is due to the universality of Darwish’s poetry and the similarly tumultuous circumstances both peoples have endured. <i>Ummi</i> (translated as <i>My Mother</i>) is one such piece – an eloquent and heart-rending expression of longing for a mother’s love and security in a world in flux. The song opens with one of its most famous lines: “I yearn for my mother’s bread, and my mother’s coffee, and my mother’s touch.” The great <a href="https://www.thenationalnews.com/arts/wadih-al-safi-giant-of-lebanese-music-dies-age-92-1.286838" target="_blank">Wadih Al Safi </a>created a song that served as a balm for his homeland across the decades. While the exact release date during the conflict remains unclear, part of the song’s enduring power lies in the understated way Al Safi delivers Shukri Nasrallah’s lyrics. His signature tenor gives way to a gruff, almost conversational tone that allows the words to land with greater emotional weight. “It’s OK, O Lebanon, what’s important is that you remain strong,” he begins. “We may be hungry – that’s OK. We may be dying – that’s OK. What’s important is that you live, O Lebanon.” While others rallied the nation through patriotism or heartfelt appeals for unity, Ziad Rahbani chose the route of withering irony. Meaning<i> Oh Era of Sectarianism</i> and taken from his theatre play <i>Film Ameriki Tawil</i> (<i>A Long American Film</i>), the 1980 song features Rahbani’s deadpan delivery over jazzy arrangements as he highlights the hypocrisy of the sectarian divisions and corruption fuelling the civil war. He sums it up towards the end with the biting line: “We’ve got sectarian seasons – they go away, then come back stronger.” This track is seared into the memory of those who lived through the civil war. Released in 1985, the defiant lyrics take aim at the presence of Israeli soldiers in southern Lebanon at the time. “The home shall remain ours,” Boutros coos over soulful strings and percussion. “And the laurel tree will once again bloom with pride upon your earth, oh south.” Majida El Roumi turned this poem by Syrian writer Nizar Qabbani into an uplifting, orchestral ode to Lebanon, picking up the pieces after 15 years of war. Released in 1991 – a year after the official end of the conflict – the track is both a love letter and a note of condolence to a city devastated by violence. “We confess now: we were not fair to you nor merciful,” El Roumi sings. “We did not understand you or excuse you. We presented you a knife instead of a rose.” A worthy bookend, Nassif released this optimistic ode to the city’s recovery in 1993. Translated to <i>Lebanon will be Rebuilt,</i> Nassif cities examples of the country’s diverse landscape and its strong citizens as reasons for its survival. “You will be rebuilt, Lebanon,” is the key refrain. “It will be more green and beautiful than it once was.”