Damascene Poem
Nizar Qabbani
This is Damascus
This is Damascus
And this is a glass of spirit (comfort)
I am in love – but I am aware of the fact
That certain kinds of love
Can slaughter you in wrath
I am a Damascene if you dissect me into halves
You will have but grapes and apples falling in your path
I am a Damascene if you dissect me into halves
You will have but grapes and apples falling 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 when hugging me
And like trees their souls speak
For civil rights to live amongst tiers of jasmine
As house cats take naps relaxing
Coffee grinders crackling
Childhood reminders – back
How can I forget?
When my reaction to cardamoms’ strong fragrance
yet and still finds attraction
As proud fathers wait
For a sweet daughter’s face
I am 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?
I am 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?
How many Damascene bracelets were
Sold for this poetry here?
Apologising to the willow
Wondering if my little siblings can hear
My parts have been scattered across coasts of years
Lanterns on horizons floating
Tossed around in shore-less oceans
Only to be haunted down by devils and demonic ghosts
I battle ugliness with my poetry and prose
Until nawar and beauty open to them
Identity of Arabness resembling a widow though
Is there no happiness for the rest of us history books can show?
What will remain of poetry’s originality if so
Many liars and deceivers get to have complete control?
How are we ever going to write a verse
With locks over our mouths?
And 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?
Damascene Poem
Nizar Qabbani