To The Syrian Child
Dedicated to all the children who were
Victims of the conflicts in Syria
You have heard more grenades crack at dawn
As bullets wizz beneath your pale sun-
O Syrian Child! Whose family has been torn
By Taliban glories and Tribal rivalries.
O Syrian Child! To whom pain sets the day
To whom bliss only exists in the books-
You lost your sense of smile
And forgot to dream like every child.
O Syrian Child! before you she perished-
That sweet mother, blown in her parish:
You watched her Kick, as she supplicated you:
"Flee son, flee to Yabroud. Flee!! Alahu agba.
O Syrian Child! She was your only mark,
Since dad had fallen years gone and dark.
The Bomb had gotten her, as it had gotten him-
And now you are left to the world's cruel hymn.
Wipe your eyes, O syrian Child!
The pain bleeds your tender heart-
The terror of your people is a pile:
O child! How I dream you were a blissful lad.
Go down on your mat,
Pray, pray! pound out to Him,
Call out to him, sweet Allah,
He knows your broiled dilemma.
He knows, he knows, O Syrian Child!
Allah knows - that very God we worship.
There are tears in his tender eyes,
As he watches his people in ruin.
O child! there is a way up yonder
The Lamb rubs his head against you
Urging you to hope for joy by
Looking up to that God, Allah!
Copyright © Gerald Nforche | Year Posted 2013
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