The Play of Children, The Fate of Lovers

Adapted from my 2009 diary, originally written as a letter in Arabic to the woman who deeply shaped my life journey. The text was revised and translated into English in December 2025. The original Arabic version is included below.

DAMASCUS Rural –

There is no escape from leaving—
this love has thrown us down
into the deep, uncharted unknown.
From you, I’ve worn my hoping thin;
from your impossible love,
I am undone.

Like a child, you ask me for the sea
without the nausea of its sway,
a vessel where you may lie still
while crescent light learns how to play.
What you ask for, little one,
is a shoreline made of sand—
but what I am is open water,
a raging love no hull can stand.

My love is not a harbor’s ease.
It is a storm that learns to feel.
It breaks the boats that trust it most
and teaches wood the cost of keel.

And now the hour—
yes, now at last—
the hour of departure calls.
I waited long for you to grow,
long till my patience learned to stall.
I bore your childhood gently, true,
my patience dressed in borrowed grace,
but even beauty tires of time
when growth refuses pace.

So stay.
Stay here beside the shore,
where sand forgives each childish scar.
Stay where games can still be played,
where dreams don’t drift too far.

As for me—
I was not shaped for half-held vows,
nor taught to live in halves.
I was made to choose the open sea,
even when it breaks what loves.

And so, my little one,
my dear—
there is no escape for me.

I must leave.

---

لا مفرَّ مِن الرّحيلِ
فقد رمانا هذا الحبُّ
بأعماقِ المجهولِ
منكِ .. أنا يئستُ ..
و مِن حبّكِ المستحيلِ

كطفلةٍ تطلبين منّي البحرَ
دون الإصابة بالدّوارِ
و مركباً تستلقين على متنه
ليغازلكِ ضوءُ الهلالِ
إنّ ما تطلبينه يا صغيرتي هو شاطئٌ مِن الرّمالِ
لكن حبّي بحرٌ هائجٌ
يُدمي المراكب بالكسورِ

حانتْ الآن .. ساعةُ الإبحارِ
انتظرتكِ لتنضجي طويلاً
و قد ملَّ منّي انتظاري
صبرتُ على طفولتكِ كثيراً
و بالغ صبري في الجَّمالِ
فلتبقي أنتِ هنا ..
تلعبين بالرّملِ كالأطفالِ
أمّا أنا ما خُلقتُ لأرضى بأنصافِ الحلولِ

فلا بدَّ لي .. يا صغيرتي ..
لا بدَّ لي مِن الرّحيلِ