Mozart In Lattakia Poem by Mohammad Yousef

By Mohammad A Yousef

In the sun-drenched embrace of Lattakia,
where the Mediterranean whispers secrets to the shore,
the salty breeze carries notes of a distant past,
as if the waves themselves remember the cadence
of a boy prodigy, flitting like a bird,
wings painted in harmony,
his spirit woven into the fabric of the sea.

Here, beneath the arching palms,
where the citrus trees bloom in golden hues,
and fishermen cast their nets with rhythm and grace,
I imagine him, a ghost of genius,
tracing the cobblestones with delicate footsteps,
each step a sonata, each pause a silence,
the air heavy with the weight of notes unsung.

The marketplace hums, a tapestry of voices,
where spices and laughter mingle,
and the distant echoes of a symphony arise,
melodies twirling like dancers on the lips of the crowd,
as if the very earth beneath is inspired,
tapping its feet to a concerto only it can hear.

In the ancient fortress that guards the coastline,
I see him, quill in hand,
ink flowing like the tide,
scribbling dreams on parchment,
each curve of the pen a brushstroke of light,
a canvas alive with the pulse of history,
the echoes of strings and keys resonating
through the corridors of time.

Oh, Lattakia, with your sun-kissed shores,
what stories you cradle in your heart!
The laughter of children, the chatter of poets,
the sigh of lovers beneath the starlit sky,
all harmonizing in a symphony of life,
as if the universe itself conspires
to celebrate the genius that once roamed,
to echo the laughter of a child,
whose notes still linger,
like the scent of jasmine in the evening air.

As twilight descends, painting the horizon in lavender and gold,
I hear the distant strains of a piano,
fingers dancing across ivory keys,
each note a ripple in the stillness,
a reminder that art transcends borders,
that music is the language of the soul,
and in this ancient land,
the spirit of Mozart finds its home,
a sonnet woven into the fabric of the night,
an everlasting ode,
echoing through the ages.

In Lattakia, where history and melody intertwine,
I breathe in the world,
and listen—
for in every heartbeat,
in every whisper of the breeze,
the maestro lives on,
alive in the dreams of all who dare to listen,
alive in the melody of the sea,
forever composing,
forever free.