At the time when Beirut is no longer differentiated between dawn and sadness, Ziad Rahbani left. He was not just an artist, but rather a unique case of genius, a man carrying a homeland on his shoulders, and formulated by a theater, with a composer, with a sad sarcasm, who left on July 26, 2025, inside a cold room in Beiruti Hospital, after he refused his stressful body to respond to treatment. Despite the silence of the devices and the noise of medical devices, it seemed as if Ziad – in his own way – said to them:
“I am tired … let me have a soul.”
The last scene: Silent farewell to a large rebel
The Lebanese Music Captain, Farid Bou Said, narrated the details of the last moments:
“His body was very tired, he did not bear the treatment, as if he had surrendered to leave … Ziad did not resist, but he chose silence.”
With this silence, Ziyad closed the curtain on the theater of his life, which was in reality, sarcastically from power, compassionate to people, full of beautiful contradictions.
A voice that does not resemble himself
How do we inherit a man that was all he did … is to strip us in front of ourselves?
Books, melody and acting, but he did not compromise. His songs were like a daily news bulletin from the people’s conscience:
People asked me, how are you? I am not an infidel, your love I forgot to sleep … all were Ziad telling us.
Fayrouz … the mother who could not say anything
When the door of the room that witnessed his last farewell was opened, the press did not enter, but rather the silence. Silence was larger than any music, and is cruel than any loss.
Mrs. Fayrouz, who gave birth to Asi’s love, did not tolerate the news. She entered into a state of complete collapse, and doctors sponsored by sitting near her, because no one knows how Fayrouz is crying when she cries.
She did not make a statement, and you will not. She knows that sadness is not written, and that speech sometimes spoils the sacred moment of loss.
But whoever knows her voice, knows that she is screaming now from the inside, even if no one hears her.
She said about him in an old meeting:
“Ziad resembles me when he was silent, and likened me more when I was afraid of people.”
Today, only this fear is left, this silence, and this pain.
Ziad, we will not bid you farewell
No farewell to you, because whoever taught people how to laugh and cry at the same time, he does not die.
Who said, “I am not an infidel” in the face of fear, is not buried.
Whoever wrote the theater is the most honest dialogue of life, unforgettable.
Sleep calm, O voice of conscience, son of Fayrouz, and the melody of Lebanon, which will not be played twice.
