Call me Damascus

You ask me questions then you tick boxes
What does that mean?
I have more to say but language fails me
Because the fire and the deadly heat
They linger in my head, like living ghosts

There is another story that I need to tell you
One whose box is not on that page
You think you are somebody?
I used to be somebody too
With colourful clothes and shiny shoes
And a handmade bag to carry my things

There in the fading horizon
Lies a place I can never return to
You too will never see that place again
This body is the only memory left of it

So call me a different name
One that does not tie me to the journey I’ve travelled
Do not bind me to the water and the tide
Or chain me again to the fire and the flames
Call me a name that preserves something old, something beautiful
Call me Damascus