Damascus

Rojin Namer 

Kamishli, Syria

 

How shall I describe Damascus?
How shall I describe paradise to those who do not know it?
Syria’s heart.
My soul.
Others’ hope.
That is Damascus.

Where there are wars.
Where bombs fall every day.
Where people are afraid.
That is Damascus.

What I dream of every day.
Where my roots are.
That is Damascus.

Where I ask the guilty one who is guilty.
Where no medicine stems the blood.
That is Damascus.

Where tourists went everywhere.
Where the streets are destroyed.
Where blood now flows.
My Damascus.

I miss your streets.
I miss your lights.
I miss your music,
which we hear every morning.
I miss your nights,
which are warm and full of life.
That is Damascus.

A city full of love.
A city full of blood.
Paradise
turned into a battle.

Where people shed tears of disappointment.
Of fear.
Not of joy.
That is Damascus.

My Damascus.
I want you back.
Back to me.

 

 

The Poetry Project, Foto © Rottkay

Rojin Namer (*2002)

fled alone from Damascus three years ago. She originally comes from Kamishli, a Kurdish town. She came as an unaccompanied minor to Berlin, where she attended the Friedrich Ebert High School. Her parents, brothers and sisters are living in Iraq as refugees. Rojin is a successful participant in debating contests, loves photography and wants to study philosophy. Foto © Rottkay

Flight

Rojin Namer

Kamishli, Syria

 

I travelled for a long time.
For days I walked.
For days I sat on the floor of a train.
For days I sat in prison.
For days I slept in the street.
I had nothing to eat.
My clothes were thrown away by the smugglers.
My shoes were torn.
I did not recognise myself.
I did not look like myself.
I had reached the zero point in my life.
I had reached the point where nothing can make you happy anymore.
I felt I had forgotten what living is.
All of it was all too much.
And endlessly exhausting.
I thought for a moment that I could no longer keep going.
But once you’re on the road and you do not know
Where the end will be, you have to go on.
There is no turning back.

 

Rojin (15)

travelled with her uncle for 47 days across Iraq and on to Greece, where she was arrested.