On Tuesday 22/3/2016, the day of the terrorist attacks in Brussels, KYKLOS had to cancel an event planned to celebrate the world day of poetry, which included "a poem for the refugees", among others.
We had planned to start the evening with the poem of a Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani, chosen by and intended to be recited by Dahham, a 25 y.o young doctor from Damascus, who fled his county in autumn 2015 to escape death and senseless war.
We met Dahham in Brussels waiting to settle and start a new life in Europe. Although he is still struggling with uncertainty and ever changing destiny, he remains always hopeful and optimistic that his future will justify this great life adventure of his, that is migration.
We asked Dahham to take inspiration from this poem and to share with us his emotions about his homeland, his migration experience and his hopes and aspirations for his future life.
This is a humble contribution dedicated to the victims of the attacks, to those affected by migration and especially to those who feel poetry as a rescue boat to navigate through the troubled waters of a changing world without losing hope and dignity.
A special thanks to Dahham for being our guest, to Efi for the contact and to Dimitri for the editorial review.
A story collated by Vassili.
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 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 by Nizar Qabbani |
When I hear or read this poem words, I can’t think of anything other than my home, Syria. I still remember the moment when I decided to leave Syria. My feelings turned into a mix of hard and complicated thoughts and emotions. New places, new habits, new challenges and meeting new people. I was terrified about all these new "ambiguity" in my life, but even though, leaving my home was much way better for me than being killed by a crazy bullet Here in Brussels, the smallest things like food, a song or even a smell can overwhelm me with homesickness. I miss those little things I never thought I’d miss, and I’d give anything to go back to that place, even if it was just for an instant. Or to share that feeling with someone who’d understand me. From the moment I squeezed my old life into a small suitcase "home" doesn’t exist any more. "Home" now are all those memories, all those long-distance calls with my family and friends, and a bunch of pictures of me and my wife wearing our wedding dresses. But I still hope that the day will come when I’ll suddenly feel at home again in my new city: Brussels. |
Painting of Hisham Alkhaya