Dear Jerusalem...

“Dear Jerusalem // letter”

Dear Jerusalem,

They say “People come and people go” and that saying was successfully examined on you; ever since the city of Jerusalem rose, so many empires and culture either occupied it or was created from the insides of it. Beginning with the Canaanites…

      Everyone on earth wanted to be a drop of blood in your veins. Everyone wanted to be the words in your mouth. Everyone on this planet craved to be the bird in your cage, cuffed for freedom. Everyone desired to call you home and I am lucky to call you home. I call your prayers that have never been heard my home. I call your melodies that fed generations hope my home. I call your crying-out-for-help screams that were heard but nobody came running for you, my home. I call the sacrifice, the price and the future that vanished away our dreams of a pillow with no key underneath it; but a key in the lock, my home. I call every bit of a disappointment and a high hope my home. I call the seconds that turned into years my home. I call my mother’s womb (which I should have never left, by the way) my home. I call my father’s legacy my home (or the home that I wanted to leave). I call my home the anticipation for The Right Of Return. I call my home the expressions on the faces of the lost ones.    

  I lived you like nobody else had ever done. I called you my life, but I would never call you my destiny, because I chose to kill my destiny and if you were my destiny you’d be dead, but you, Jerusalem, you never die, in fact, you are to die for… but I’d much rather live for you.

I loved walking on your streets under the rain, where I saw the sky reflect on the street out of humble. I loved walking on your streets every time victory bailed on me and made me cry, so my salty tears would mix with your bittersweet raindrops and they’d taste just like life. Away from all this chaos and the curse of war loving you, underneath all these buildings and tombs, underneath years and years of sorrows that looked happy, underneath so many layers of yesterdays, I seek tomorrow.  Tomorrow doesn’t look holy to me. It doesn’t look like a sacred day when you’re finally liberated. What it looks like is what should have always been happening; Jerusalem, the one true capital of Palestine. But until then, tomorrow won’t happen. Just like how Handala’s genes always ignored tomorrow, I will too. Just like Salah El Deen made a vow he’d never smile until Jerusalem is free, I’ll make the same vow.

I will always be this 16 year old boy with so many fears, sorrows and every problem in the world. I’ll always be this 16 year old boy who thinks he’s going to change somebody’s world someday. I’ll always be this 16 year old boy who’s lost and confused but with a music taste that is much better than yours. I will always be this 16 year old boy writing a poem in one of your occupied alleys. And I will only stop being 16 when I see you free, but till then let me cuff myself for your freedom, but till then… let’s stop the time.

“Jerusalem, so complicated
My mind is about to explode
Jerusalem, you won’t be hated
‘Cause every street is a holy road
Peace, War somehow related
You better find your freedom code
Jerusalem, So complicated
I’m waiting for my life to load
Because our memories are made out of gold”

This was the chorus to the first song I wrote about you, and I’m going to keep writing, because you’re the reason I write, I fight and I dream.. and then I have a nightmare… oh yeah, my city does sleep.

“Little kids are playing in Jerusalem, big kids are playing with Jerusalem”             

with love,

Mohammed.