Warsaw: A City Between the Ruins of the Past and the Splendor of the Present**

When I set foot on Warsaw's sidewalks after forty years of absence, it felt like stepping into a fragmented dream. The city I left in the eighties, cloaked in the heavy mantle of communism, now swayed gracefully in elegant European attire. Glass skyscrapers embraced the sky, lively cafes whispered secrets of freedom, yet the old spirit still crepthrough the street corners like a nostalgic shadow clinging to memories.

The Vistula River: Witness to Transformations

I walked along the banks of the Vistula River, that lifeline which saw the city bleed during World War II, only to be reborn anew. Today, the river has transformed into an artistic tableau: illuminated bridges, bicycles gliding like happy ghosts, and young people laughing in a language I had never heard here before—the language of openness.

At a floating café on the bank, I sipped coffee and contemplated the "Palace of Culture and Science," that Stalinist giant that was once a symbol of oppression and now stands as a museum narrating the city’s story. Inside, among Chopin’s halls and science libraries, I stumbled upon a strange paradox: an ancient image of Mesopotamia—Iraq. I felt a peculiar warmth, as though history had tied me to this place with an invisible thread.

The Old Town: When Stones Retell Their Story

In "Stare Miasto" (Old Town), where buildings stood colorful as candy boxes, I paused at the market square. Here, every stone bore both wounds and salvation. During World War II, the Nazis destroyed 85% of the city, but the Poles rebuilt it with the precision of artists, relying on 18th-century paintings. Today, street bands sing in the same square that once witnessed mass executions.

I asked a vendor about the secret of this resilience, and he answered while preparing a cup of tea:

"Warsaw is like an old woman... she knows how to sew her new dress from the threads of her old one."

The Palace of Culture: An Unforgivable Witness

The colossal palace, Stalin’s "gift," still loomed tall like an unhealed wound. Some Poles see it as a humiliating relic, while others have made it part of their identity. I ascended to its rooftop at night, where Warsaw glittered beneath my feet like a sea of stars. From 230 meters high, I saw the past and present locked in battle:

- **Here**, faded socialist housing blocks, reminiscent of an era of austerity.

- **There**, the golden towers of "Złote Tarasy," where capital converges.

Baghdad and Warsaw: A Shared Architectural Thread**

In a corner of my memory, I recalled that modern Baghdad was born from the hands of Polish engineers from "Polservice" in the seventies. How similar the fates of these two cities were: both were meticulously planned by experts, then torn apart by wars. The difference is that Warsaw managed to heal, while Baghdad still searches for its lost story.

The Renaissance: When Freedom Becomes a Daily Rhythm

In the once-poor district of "Praga," where old factories groaned under communism, I now found artists’ studios and hipster cafés. A blue-eyed young man played a Chopin melody on his violin as electric cars glided through the streets.

The numbers say Warsaw’s population has grown by only 200,000 since the eighties, but its spirit has multiplied a million times over. The city no longer fears strangers—here, it teaches its language to Ukrainians fleeing war and opens its doors to anyone seeking beauty.

Farewell: A Lesson from Warsaw to Baghdad

Before leaving, I stood before the "Little Insurgent" monument, which tells the story of Warsaw’s children who fought the Nazis with stones. Today, the entire city is a living monument to resilience.

Warsaw taught me that cities are like people:

- They can be crushed, but they cannot be killed.

- They can be looted, but their spirit cannot be stolen.

- And successful urban planning isn’t about concrete and steel, but the will to turn ruins into palaces.

I left carrying a question: When will Baghdad, one day, tell its story the way Warsaw has?