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| 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.
