Let me go,
but always remind me that I came from dust and ashes.
No biblical references and metaphors,
I came from dust and ashes, bombs and ruins,
explosions and pollution
I came from a place of lies, cries, blood,
and a black sky.
Let me go to a colder place, I’ll be fine.
I will remember
water seeping from your ceilings
houses with no ceilings
houses with no people
people with no name.
Let me go, it’s okay, I’ll be fine,
and if not, I’ll try to remember your humiliation,
I’ll remember constant fear, constant worry
broken glass, broken hearts.
I need to.
Let me go to a foreign land
with foreign language;
unknown people whose names I cannot pronounce,
people who don’t know what we’ve been through,
who don’t know why I walk around with half a heart and corrupted lungs.
It’s okay, I’ll be fine.
I will talk behind your back about your unfairness, unjustness
to ease my pain of leaving you
only to find myself daydreaming about you.
I will tell them all of our secrets
they’re no longer ours anyway,
they’ve fallen naked,
for everyone to see
lost between other secrets and identical scandals,
secrets belonging to wasted lovers you’ve inspired
until they realized they were invisible to you.
You stood tall and showcased your war wounds as a signal of triumph
turned your shelters into exhibition halls,
played sounds of freedom and glorified odes to belonging.
Lullabies of a white winter, soft snow, and a lost child
sung by mothers and fathers,
sung to parents who were raised in war,
with a trembling child still trapped inside.
They hum themselves to sleep, protected by angels playing classical music
covering any remaining noise of echoing bombs.
Let me go, to a colder place
where I talk about you, from a distance.
You’ve always looked better
from a distance;
fair traits, softer skin, and a warmer heart.
Coiled threads of wonder, shining brightly from dusk till dawn
soft waves of blue, gently caressing your stones of karst
bones of limestone;
voluptuous genes of reverence and awe.
Sun-kissed cheeks, fields of pomegranate and orange blossom trees
lavishing with damaged pride, generosity, and left-over resilience.
See, they don’t know you as I do.
I’ll make them fantasize about you,
pray for you,
from a distance
while I stand in abandon and atheism,
shame and disappointment,
in all the things you could’ve been.
“you dream maker,
wherever I’m going, you’re going my way.”1
Let me go
as I am one of your many desperate lovers
whose name you’ll easily forget
whose traits you’ll easily retrace
with new ones.
“let me go, I might choose to stay,
heartbroken by the comfort I found in your release.”
Heartbreak for heartbreak, I believed.
One day I’ll be back
and we’ll be strangers in the night;
you’ll show me your bullet holes
some old, some new
you’ll walk me through your newly built soulless streets
while I pretend I don’t remember
you falling to the ground,
with your arches and red bricks surrendering,
covered with powdered glass,
and wet blood.
I’ll be back and we’ll be strangers in the night;
you’ll show me your remaining scars
and I’ll show you mine.
We’ll make new secrets, new lies.
I’ll show you my shattered heart and tell you it’s because of someone else.
You’ll look at my wrinkles and premature white hair
as you stand proud,
as you always have,
I would hope.
- Lyrics from Andy Williams, “Moon River.”