What is the name of this magical herb that has made us dizzy? Is it a talisman? Medicine? A secret code? What is it called in English? I said to them: ItвЂ™s difficult for me to explainвЂ¦ For tarragon is a language that only the gardens of Sham speak It is our sacred herb. and my tarragon They would ask: Tell us, by god. And when the English suspected my letters They took them to the laboratory And turned them over to Scotland Yard And explosives experts. 12 When I was a diplomat in Britain Thirty years ago My mother would send letters at the beginning of Spring Inside each letter. Extends its hand to another facing it Damascene houses are loving houses. Is based on an emotional foundation For every house leans. 11 The Damascene House Is beyond the architectural text The design of our homes. I remember the Damascene houses With their copper doorknobs And their ceilings decorated with glazed tiles And their interior courtyards That remind you of descriptions of heaven. And the cafГ©s of al-Rubwa That nearly-after five flasks of вЂaraq- Fall into the river I remember the colored towels As they dance on the door of Hammam al-Khayyatin As if they were celebrating their national holiday. Coming out of his workshop on MuвЂ™awiya Alley I remember the horse-drawn carts. And the beginning of adolesence From the spouts of our alley That first taught me crying And from my motherвЂ™s prayer rug That first taught me The path to God.

From the laughter of Shami women That first taught me music. From the memory of al-Mutanabbi That condenses the history of poetry. From the history of the Damascene rose That condenses the history of perfume. How do the gardens of Sham transform me? For I have become the first conductor in the world That leads an orchestra from a willow tree!! 9 I have come to you. What are you doing to me Damascus? How have you changed my culture? My aesthetic taste? For I have been made to forget the ringing of cups of licorice The piano concerto of Rachmaninoff. And I forget-while in the Souq al-вЂAttarine- All the concoctions of Nina Ricci. 8 I immerse myself in the Buzurriya Souq Set a sail in a cloud of spices Clouds of cloves And cinnamon. The stars wear their gold bracelets And greet me And the pigeons alight from their towers And greet me And the clean Shami cats come out Who were born with us. Behind the windows, honeyed eyes awake And greet me. dove I wander in the gardens of Kufi script And pluck beautiful flowers of GodвЂ™s words And hear with my eye the voice of the mosaics And the music of agate prayer beads A state of revelation and rapture overtakes me, So I climb the steps of the first minaret that encounters me Calling: вЂњCome to the jasmineвЂќ вЂњCome to the jasmineвЂќ 6 Returning to you Stained by the rains of my longing Returning to fill my pockets With nuts, green plums, and green almonds Returning to my oyster shell Returning to my birth bed For the fountains of Versailles Are no compensation for the Fountain CafГ© And Les Halles in Paris Is no compensation for the Friday market And Buckingham Palace in London Is no compensation for Azem Palace And the pigeons of San Marco in Venice Are no more blessed than the doves in the Umayyad Mosque And NapoleonвЂ™s tomb in Les Invalides Is no more glorious than the tomb of Salah al-Din Al-AyyubiвЂ¦ 7 I wander in the narrow alleys of Damascus. 5 I enter the courtyard of the Umayyad Mosque And greet everyone in it Corner to. And after the вЂњbrideвЂќ of oil and thyme That she would roll up for me No longer does any other 'bride' in the world please me And after the quince jam she would make with her own hands I am no longer enthusiastic about breakfast in the morning And after the blackberry drink that she would make No other wine intoxicates me. 4 I return After my limbs have been strewn across all the continents And my cough has been scattered in all the hotels After my motherвЂ™s sheets scented with laurel soap I have found no other bed to sleep on. To the first woman who taught me The geography of love. I return after sixty years To search for my umbilical cord, For the Damascene barber who circumcised me, For the midwife who tossed me in the basin under the bed And received a gold lira from my father, She left our house On that day in March of 1923 Her hands stained with the blood of the poemвЂ¦ 3 I return to the womb in which I was formed. A new mouth emerges for my mouth A new voice emerges for my voice And my fingers Become a tribe 2 I return to Damascus Riding on the backs of clouds Riding the two most beautiful horses in the world The horse of passion. 1 My voice rings out, this time, from Damascus It rings out from the house of my mother and father In Sham.

Nizar qabbani poem to damascus