The Syria I Remember

“It was beautiful, Habibti”
The arid sprawl,
The gem of a meadow among the rocky land.
Winding cities with layers of love.
Meandering trails and

Music calling out.
Seeping down to the ears of those tracing
The familiar streets.
Floating gently, in the thick sunshine.
Weeping voices
Climbing then setting slowly into the sinking air.
Weathered hands ease the sound from the derbekkeh.

“It was safe”
Never once did I think,
Don’t let yourself feel in this city for,
One day everything will change and you will

Try to take it all in.
“It’s not like before”
My dark eyes refuse to see what lies before me;
My sad eyes the same as my Teta’s and,
Her Teta’s before her that lay
Across the Atlantic Ocean.
Smoke as breath never settling,
But,
“We once could go anywhere”
Familiar stone buildings being,
Broken again and again and again and
Drenched in hurt so

I am ever-distant.

Let me travel down that same road once more and
I am an alien.
For, this is not the Syria I remember.