Next Stop: Mardin, Al-Hasakah, and Mahabad
Mardin rises in the sun’s first breath,
stone steps carved by time and death.
Its hills watch silently, shadows long,
a city of whispers, of faith, of song.
Al-Hasakah hums with the pulse of the plain,
fields of grain and the weight of pain.
Where languages weave like threads through air,
and each street carries the gaze of care.
Mahabad waits beyond the ridge,
a bridge of dreams, a dream of bridge.
Its name burns bright in every chord,
a promise kept, a quiet sword.
Three cities bound by unseen hands,
spread across divided lands.
Next stop — their names are fire and thread,
a map the world will one day tread.