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.
