Damascus. Dimashq

A view from the house I grew up in.

Oh Damascus;

My heart is aching and breaking. Although I left you a long time ago, you never left me. You are in my heart, how could you not be? for into your arms I was born one hot summer day.

You were the place that I took my first steps in and got my education. In you I first met my loving parents and wonderful family.

In you I was first introduced to democracy, working the polls for my mother the candidate; but democracy lasted for a year or two only, then came the heavy hand of El Baath.

For almost 50 years you survived by being your accommodating self, surviving wars, rebellions and mostly the harshness, corruption and ruthlessness of those that would suck the juice out of you pretending they are doing you a favor.

What fifty years? You survived eons by being you from the Romans to the Pharaohs, and even before to Timor lank that raped you and almost killed you, to the Crusaders, the Egyptian Mamelukes, the Ottomans, the French and what seems like a hundred and one Coup d’etat after independence all trying to rule you until the iron fist did just that for those last fifty years.

Oh Damascus with your Jasmine, citrus and roses, that fill your beautiful mild nights with heavenly smells. The dim lit streets that I walked with the love of my life inhaling your perfumes, your love and your culture.

Oh Damascus I did leave you, but forever are you in my heart, in the jasmine and citrus living beside me, in the memories inside me, and in my love standing beside me worrying about you just as much as I do.

Oh Damascus this night will end, and Dawn will come with the competing calls to prayers from  Minarets and bells from Steeples. May you always be your diverse, loving, historical self.