Jeddah's poem (All the poems lead to Jeddah)

All the poems lead to Jeddah
A city better in imagination than reality
It’s rarely possible to catch a glimpse 
of her beauty in passing.
Often the photographers capture Jeddah 
during the nighttime,

when darkness hides her flaws.
They never catch it, 
that moment when Jeddah stares back into the sun 
and we burn between the two.
But I guess this city is better in theory, 
I don’t think there’s a particular charm to it. 
It’s hard to write nice words about such a city.
Jeddah is unbearable, it leaves you breathless, 
She’s a weekdays’ city, I barely see her on the weekends.
The love I have for Jeddah is not romantic, 
I could never write a love poem for Jeddah, 
and I don’t think she’s the kind of city 
that would want a love poem, 
Jeddah is too busy.
To care about the poetry and the songs.
Jeddah is a family member, 
That I don’t know what gift to get her,
When I see pictures of her in the 80s I recognize her 
young, sweet, and fresh. 
It must have been something to love her back then,
Before she was too big, I think she was more patient 
Back then, I like to imagine her, talking back to people
I like to imagine her listening to every heartbeat.
And when I read about her in history books, 
I can’t help but wonder about the many lives Jeddah has lived.
It is always the old part of her in the pictures,
Or the blue, sometimes green or yellow, red sea, 
That’s the only geography of Jeddah they show
Meanwhile she is constantly stretching,
I never could sum her up, she can’t be put into words
A place you can’t conclude because 
All the poems lead to Jeddah.