Casablanca I’m packing my bags and selling my furniture again
After two years it’s time to go home Not that I wouldn’t like to stay I haven’t grown tired of your endless cafés Palm trees Minarets Beachside juices Crazy taxi rides Fast deals Dreams of Paris New York Dubai Mecca… Silent Sufis Loud weddings Drums and beggars Loyalists royalists and football hooligans White walls Intersections tram stations train stations bus stations ports and airport You’ve been generous to me Kind Even caring sometimes A base for me to explore this holy country even more No I haven’t tired of you Casa I just have things I’ve got to do Back home Sure I could be critical Poverty humiliation crime impatience vanity and envy Plague you I know But I also know you are doing your blessed best And after you let me in As a son not as a guest I can’t separate myself from your warm noons and cold nights Broken sidewalks Slaughtered sheep heads roasting on charcoal and the smell of burning hair everywhere Stray cats Pushers Young women desperate to go up or get out Frightened boys inhaling glue And saints oh yes your saints All are mixed into my body now I am part of the problem and solution Casablanca you’ve become one of those cities I can never really leave Salam
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AuthorTransdisciplinary scholar of Islam and Sufism. Archives
January 2025
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