03/23/2026
جئتُ يا شامُ أعتذرُ
جئتُ أقولُ: إنّي أحبُّكِ أكثرَ ممّا ظننتُ،
وأكثرَ ممّا أقولُ،
وأكثرَ ممّا أكتبُ...
جئتُ لأغسلَ وجهَكِ الحزينَ
بدموعِ العائِدينَ...
ولأُشعلَ قنديلاً في حنايا الوردِ الجوريّ، وأزرعَ ياسمينةُ على شرفاتِكِ العالية...
جئتُ أبحثُ عن بيتِنا القديم، عن باب من خشب، عن نافذةٍ من ضوءٍ،
عن حرامٍ دمشقيِّ كانت أمّي تُغنّيني تحتَهُ حينَ كنتُ صغيراً...
جئتُ أفتَشُ عن عائلتي في رائحةِ الخبزِ، وفي رائحةِ الوردِ،
وفي ظلِّ المآذنِ...
يا شامُ، يا نجمةٌ تسكنُ القلبّ، يا طفلةٌ تلهو بخُصلاتِ الغيمِ،
يا وردةَ العالَمِ،
يا نكهة التاريخ والعطرِ والذاكرة...
منكَ تعلَّمتُ البكاءَ،
ومنكَ تعلَّمتُ أن يكونَ الحنينُ صلاةً، وأن يكونَ الوردُ وطناً،
وأن يكونَ الياسمينُ عائلةً لا تموت.
I came to you, Damascus, to ask forgiveness for being so faraway
your jasmine still living in my breath,
your Damascene blanket still warming my nights,
just like when my mother would tuck it around me
and whisper me to sleep.
Damascus no city feels like you,
and no love remembers me the way you do.
You taught me that nostalgia is a prayer and the roses are a homeland and the jasmine is the family that never dies.
The words of Nizar Qabbani the famous Syrian poet about jasmine, memory, and the Damascene blanket stayed with me, and they became the emotional starting point of this piece.
The Damascene blanket appears again as the background as a symbol of warmth, childhood, and belonging.
The canvas is filled with jasmine and red roses as well, because they are the official flowers of Damascus and, to me, they carry the feeling of my dad , home, nostalgia, and tenderness. Every element was placed intentionally the figures (the family), the background, the flowers, all connected to the idea of memory and returning to something that once felt safe.
I would really love to hear what you see when you look at it. Your interpretations and your feelings.
Everyone sees and feel something different, and that’s what makes my paintings even more complete to me.
