Casablanca I'm packing my Bags

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