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.
Eastern Ghouta –
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.
Originally written in Arabic in December 2007 and preserved from my personal diary.
This English version is an adaptation with the help of AI.
It is addressed to those I loved and wounded—love remains.
Eastern Ghouta –
To you, I offer my apology—
for my foolishness, my wild delirium,
for all my seas, my endless drifting,
for every turn that carried me away from you.
Adapted from my May 18, 2006 Arabic diary below. It was primarily written in Arabic verse, for Haya. I revised the English version using AI on October 6, 2024.
DAMASCUS –
On Baghdad Street we stood that day,
the rain weighed heavy on my coat.
I watched you with my whole being,
waiting—begging—for a note,
a mercy in the way you’d turn,
a softening I hoped to earn.
Written as a boundary-setting letter in my Arabic diary (March 2006). This is an English adaptation, prepared with the help of AI. The original Arabic poem follows below.
Image by Dương Nhân
Do not return to me—
you’ll find in me but ruin,
fields of ash, collapsed debris.
Strike me from your history—
my presence in your past is sin to be.
Adapted from my original Arabic diary (January 2006). This English version was created with the help of AI as a literary adaptation. The original Arabic poem follows.
Image by Pixabay
Damascus —
Before your eyes, don’t ask me why
I lose my balance, falter, sway—
Why like a child I shake and shy,
And stumble over what I say.
Don’t ask of me how I am found,
For words desert me when you’re near;
Your eyes are forests, vast, unbound,
No wonder that my tongue disappears.
Roumani Line 