Our first impression of Damascus is one of surprise, as we notice the modern appearance of the Syria square in the center of the city. But our opinion soon changes as we step a few places away

هذي دمشقُ.. وهذي الكأسُ والرّاحُ

إنّي أحبُّ... وبعـضُ الحـبِّ ذبّاحُ

This is Damascus

And this is a glass of spirit (comfort)

I love - but I'm aware of the fact that

Certain kinds of love

Can slaughter you in their wrath

I'm a Damascene being dissect me into halves

And have not but grapes and apples fall in your path

Open my veins with scalpels

Hear ancestral chants

If heart - transplants can

Cure some of the passionate

Why does mine stay torn in half then?

Minarets crying tears of absence

And like trees their souls speak

Years have passed them

(You can hear them asking)

For civil rights to live amongst

Tears of Jasmine

As house cats take naps - relaxing

Es la cosa mas triste de este mundo

Y así me siento yo por ti solo por ti

(And this is how I feel for you)

هذي دمشقُ.. وهذي الكأسُ والرّاحُ

إنّي أحبُّ... وبعـضُ الحـبِّ ذبّاحُ

Coffee grinders crackling

Childhood reminders - back when

How can i forget?

When my reaction...

To cardamom's strong fragrance

Yet and still finds attraction

As proud fathers wait

For a sweet daughter's face

I'm asking...

If my roots - heart - and language are here

How am i supposed to make myself

Any more clear?

Is clarification necessary

With love so dear?

(So much so that there was no fear...)

How many Damascene bracelets were

Sold for this poetry here?

Apologizing to the willow

Wondering if my little siblings can hear

My parts been scattered across coasts for years

Lanterns on horizons

(Floating... saddened eyes had lost their hopes to see her...)

Es la cosa mas triste de este mundo

Y así me siento yo por ti solo por ti

(And this is how I feel for you)

هذي دمشقُ.. وهذي الكأسُ والرّاحُ

إنّي أحبُّ... وبعـضُ الحـبِّ ذبّاحُ

Tossed around in shoreless oceans

Only to be hunted down by devils & demonic ghosts

I battle garbage rap with prose & (rapid) flows

Thats apropos until nawar is open to em

(thats fa sho!)

Identity of Arabness resembling a widow though

Is there no festivous for the rest of us history books can show?

What will remain of poetry's originality if so

Many a brown-nosing liar gets to have complete control?

How we gonna ever write a verse to spit

When killers still approach?

I bore the burden of my words upon my back until i grieved...

What shall remain of poetry when it is finally relieved?

(the saddest thing in this world - my lady's - is knowin that we

Were meant to be from the very start but that we'll never be...)

Es la cosa mas triste de este mundo

Y así me siento yo por ti solo por ti

(And this is how I feel for you)

هذي دمشقُ.. وهذي الكأسُ والرّاحُ

إنّي أحبُّ... وبعـضُ الحـبِّ ذبّاحُ