1001 Scents and Colours of Damascus

Your fragrance entered through the window, and I breathed you in... I perused the shelves of the memories of you, and I found a corolla of varied colours and smells.

Hence, I came across the fuchsia of your flowers, your pure white jasmine and the crimson of your red roses.

Indulging this vivacious fan of colours, I walk down your streets. Aside from the flowers, you have got your own perfume...el perfume llamado Damasco.

The lemony fragrance of your streets or the vintage and heritage-like embedded odours of the pavement...

Your personal scent, the earthy scent of you, which raised whenever it rained. It’s much more than the sheer smell of your being, as a whole. It’s as if your spirit transcends it all and reverberates your trademark everywhere.

Once you’re born in the capital of flowers, you grow up with this imagery and these scents on your mind. In your heart.

Every single palace and every single traditional Damascene house has got their interior garden, with the fountain at its core - a trademark of the city, all in all. That traditional fountain, the spring of life and joy. The ripples, falling in a paced rhythm. It's calm. It feels Home.

The salmon-peachy-fuchsia cascade in front of my eyes - I  am caught in the moment. I do the “1, 2, 3, Ole!” on the three main colours of your architecture, the colours which define it: black, white and cream.

These are the colours of Damascus.
There is no room for grey. What is grey and who would want it grey?  Would you have it grey? Damascenes opted for cream. It suits our personalities much better. It’s either black or white. The in-between is cream, but not grey. Definitely not grey. 

Much more than the oldest continuously inhabited city, Damascus is the cauldron of magic. Miracles do happen in Damascus. She is the state of high consciousness since Damascus is Light. For Light is Love. Hence, Love is Magic.

A cascade of civilizations blended in the folds of her waving petals: Damasco, velvet and silk.

The motherly source shall forever and always rise. History has it, time has it that Damascus has been since ... almost forever. Now is better than never. Sweet memories of our beautiful childhood last forever.

Oh, thou poem of sweetness and tenderness! The lighthouse spreading kindness and richness.

The perfect blend of spices, Damascus is my oasis of senses.

Whenever I feel joy, happiness, I find myself wrapped in the lace of Damascus.

Damascus is the Garden of Roses, to me, as heavenly as the Arch of Moses.

Damascus is the whitish jasmine - Al Yasmin Al Shami. Oh, Damascus! Dearest Capital of Jasmine...

I am feeling your smell. My spirit has travelled time and space to indulge your warm embrace.

I close my eyes and here I am, amidst the 1001 scents and colours of Damascus.