Amman, Hayati...

A letter to my home city of Amman, Jordan. "Hayati" (literally: "my life") in Arabic is often used in the affectionate manner of "dear" or "love"; here, ironically.

Amman, hayati,

There is nothing you cannot attempt,

But there is few you can truly do.

You’re a story of impressive ambition

And aborted execution.

You’re that tower on Sixth Circle

High and mighty above your neighbors

But dead and useless.

You’re that quick lane by Sweileh’s gates

The elaborate effort to make a grand story

Out of a history of scars.

Your coffee will always remain needed

But it will never be savoured.

Your lovers will always remain sweet

But they will never be passionate.

Your boys will always remain handsome

But they will not love themselves.

Your children will always remain beautiful

But they will never be seen �"

Perhaps until

The folks in your homes give a better deal of home

Than the ecstasy of a cigarette at thirteen.

The distance between heaven and you

Is the lies our Mamas and Babas tell to themselves.

The reason we love you in your pictures

Is because we can see you without hearing your words.

The resulting apparent hatred

Was never hatred but only unrequited love

And it grows

The more they try to take you away.