Sunday, February 19, 2012

Damascus, where is your honor?

You let your orchards be trampled with steamrollers,
and your river be paved with cement.
Once you were a pure city, a brave city
But you have let the stone floors of your buildings dull,
The tiles of mosque of the Ommayids and your palaces no longer shine,
Your rose water has lost its scent.
The basins of spices in your market have become stale.
Your minarets once heralded the exploits of heroes
But they are now silent, and what good is a silent minaret?
Your residents only speak in whispers,
No one dares to sing or dance, they fear for their pennies,
While the Assi river brews new batches of fresh perfumes,
The Bareda river flows with sewage.

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