I Start Off the Decade Watching an Interview with a Syrian Poet

BY HANEEN AMR

The poet talks of an epiphany:

He could never truly miss Demascus because he was of the city, and the city was of him—and how can you miss that which is part of you?

This also means that the city does not miss him either;

I am saddened by this thought.

He talks of being a young man, a young poet in a Beirut under siege,

Of how words were a sort of resistance, then.

I think we have too many words and not nearly enough resistance.

He says, back then, Cairo was a sort of Qibla for the poetic and the political.

I think to myself:

Oh, please, don’t talk of Cairo;

She is as downtrodden as all the people she envelopes.

Cairo has gone deaf with poetry and protest chants.

Cairo is a caged bird—throat raw, voice hoarse and unable to sing anymore.

I sometimes wish for revolution to strike the City, for purely selfish reasons.

Mostly because I can’t bear hearing more of the City’s sighs,

Nor can I bear any of my mother’s sighs either.

Cairo often feels like a city that’s dying, decaying, diminishing into a mere shadow of herself.

I can’t stomach the thought of the Conqueress withering away,

Going out with a whimper.

I can’t stomach the thought of the Conqueress going out.

I can’t stomach the thought of the Conqueress whimpering.

The poet talks of the power of words, and I am angry;

We have said all the words that matter over and over again until they have lost their meaning,

Until they’ve been forced off our lips entirely.

Most days, it feels like all I can do is weep for myself and my city.

Haneen is a writer-in-the-making from Cairo. You can find them on Twitter (@melodramughh) or on Instagram (@haneeenamr).