Oh, Damascus,
In the middle of the night
The newspapers hound me
In the streets of Berlin and grasp me,
To tear my body apart and to steal
What I have learned of this city’s beauty.
Whenever I choose a street to stroll,
The newspapers are dripping with envy.

Oh, Damascus,
The headlines vomit
Over my name,
My name, which I have forgotten.
So I swim the wave of refuge seekers,
Rejected by every coast.

Oh, Damascus,
How can I tell you
That I love you,
And that I would set my course for you,
If I were the captain of the waves,
To sit in one of your corners with a cup of coffee
And to laugh
At an advert saying migrate to Germany.