I witnessed the jasmines of spring wither into ashes, their once sweet perfume transformed into the stench of decay and clotted blood. The highlands and meadows exhaled smoke, becoming solemn memorials. I observed as they set sail for the shores of Damascus, into an uncertain tomorrow, only to drown in the salty waters of their dreams, memories, agonies, and hope. Houses, once temples of happiness and love, crumbled into piles of bricks, and the youth perished in vain, leaving grieving parents to bury their own offspring. What agony could be more profound than burying a child while still alive? In the enchantment of a past glory, time alone promises healing. Aleppo and Damascus, I weep for you. Once, I dreamt of you through the tales of great legends and Sufis.
Aleppo, may your fields spring forth, and may the olives blossom anew. May the wind sweep away the echoes of agony and sorrow. Your tears shall purify the generations to come, and the moans shall resound like thunder. Your children will rebuild your cities, and once more, the nights will be beautiful. Days will yield the fruits of labor, and music will flow through your streets. A new moon shall grace the heavens! I return home, through the ruins of your former glory and dreams. I offer you my tears, bargaining with time to hasten your healing.
And I turn homeward, seeking the embrace of my mother's lap, the shelter of my father's wings, the joy of my sister, and the warmth of my love's embrace. I turn home when rain graces the desert, and the lark soars into azure skies.
I will sing the songs of Assyrian Sufis and recount the tales of Andalusian shepherds. My love, I will share with you the stories of life in the desert, once a sea. I offer you the shell found on the mountains, for within it, the sea lives on. It shall persist until the desert is once again embraced by water.
I shall traverse waters and mountains, guided by the wind as my wings, with your thoughts leading me to eternal love.
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