#syrians
Dear Children,
You do not deserve to live in fear.
You do not deserve to lift your hands in surrender when you have done no wrong,
To hide in fright at the sight of the ones who claim authority,
To come home to your houses destroyed,
To have your playmates beaten before your very eyes,
To have mom and dad abused for beliefs they do not live by,
To have your neighbors shot for reasons you do not understand,
To struggle falling asleep when the sound of bombs and gunshots fill the airwaves,
To have military planes speed above you instead of kites,
To have your brothers and sisters hold you close as you tremble and sob,
To have danger and war as all you know.
But children, please remember that what you see and know isn't all there is to the world.
Somewhere out there, perhaps quite far for now, beautiful places await you
Where there is love in the arms that will welcome you,
Gentleness in the touch of strangers,
Parks to sit under blue skies and watch the clouds pass,
Homes where you will be safe and sound,
Quiet nights where you can sleep at ease, the stars watching over you,
And no more war and what you have known all your life.
For now, I only hope that the barren lands you walk on barefoot will begin to grow greener pastures,
I hope flowers grow amidst the rubble and destruction,
I hope the sounds of war will be softened with lullabies,
I hope you will soon be able to play street games and watch sun set,
I hope you will snuggle between your parents at night to sleep soundly,
I hope you will be able to fly kites and build dreams,
I hope you will never grow to become angry and miserable all your days,
I hope you will never feel at fault for things you have never done.
And I wish that you remain hopeful for the day you will be free to wander to better places, away from the turmoil you've come to know, the way you deserve to.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
What’s good for the life
It wasn’t just spontaneity
It was the ability to see conflict as growth
Getting along with everyone… he aspired to be more than that
Polite conversation was as meaningless as pretension
He wanted the feelings that he blamed on the past to live on
There was no time for idle talk or self-importance
He just wanted to speak the truth
But where would he find himself if the world was on fire
Or his family needed him more
What fact of life should he follow
What he could swear to… witnessed or not
Or what he assumed to be true from the look on her face
A street walker didn’t have the luxury to think of these things
Yet conflict was all around
His toes started bleeding as he ran
He wondered if it was better to lose some every now and then
Was old blood as bad as an old grudge?
We carry these things inside of us but to sleep well is to accept
To lie awake in a pool of anger is to suffer without redemption
He knew these things instinctively
It didn’t take a revolution
In his mind or his country
He knew of musicians who made money from another man’s pain
He wondered if anyone would write about him
But did he have to die first?
As they walked across the tracks
And climbed fences
The world blamed them as it always does
But not so the wind
Or the birds that walked beside them
Somehow they knew of the choice that tormented them
Who can migrate as a bird except a man trying to save his family?
He tried to become a survivor
Not knowing now where his grave would be dug
Or even to live forever inside a poem
Where were the peace signs for his plight
Where was the poetry for his soul
Empathy was a closed door
Heroic courage was an extinguished flame
He once thought the world loved children
But not his
As he continued to bleed on the streets where love went to die
He became something that he never knew
Homeless
Unwanted
A burden
All because he lived where God couldn’t make up his mind
Because prophets chose to remain silent
Because the temple crumbled before the cries of the people
He wanted to be vision to his family
A vision of comfort and stability
Yet he could only guide along an abandoned railroad track
It was the end
The end of peace
And he was to be blamed because he didn’t choose to die
Like a captain who abandoned his ship
He left his country but the ocean upon which he walks
Is not a miracle of the Gods
But instead burning stones where pride melts
And memories of his ancestors are the ashes of a modern world
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC