Best Syria Poems
a life is a life
there is no grading scale of value
irrespective of
country of origin
or country of residence
or country of destination
a life is a life
we are all children
of God
there is no lesser God
there is no greater God
there is God
the Supreme Being
We are all his children
we call Him by different names
that is to our own shame
He is the same
a life is a life
not man's to take
not man's to torture
not man's to break
a life is a life
the life blood still seeps
into the ground
while we stand by and weep
and still the question echoes
"where is your brother?
where is your sister?
where are the children?
where are the mothers
the fathers?
whose blood is soaking the ground?"
and still we shamelessly bellow:
"Am I my Brother's Keeper?"
and the answer hasn't change
time cannot change it
nor circumstance
"yes"
......"Oh, Yes!"
we are one family
Don't just let it be...
"Who cares!
it's not happening to me!"
Stockholm and Syria
My heart is crying
endless requiem
for those dead and dying
a life is a life is a life...is a life
one day that life will be mine
one day that life will be yours
that life will be taken
taken by force
who places the value on life?
Silence is the breeding ground
where atrocitiesmflourish
"after all, who remembers the Armenians"
Hitler intimated
as the Jews he annihilated
Speak OUT!
a life is a life
death was not meant to be
not for them
not for you
not for me
a life is a life
Eileen Manassian
After so many countries, now in Syria,
Increasing is the western bacteria,
The bacteria of hypocrisy and lies,
Which is in a dangerous disguise,
Under the banner of help and peace,
They seems like a white fleece,
They do things very secretly,
Pursuing interests very actively,
What they want is just conflicts?
In the entire world's districts,
They like when people kill each other,
Its how indirectly they do smother,
Try to understand that what is a war?
Because it opens up the profits door,
For the imperialists and dictators,
And of course their very own creators,
When imperialists start a war,
They make sure that its paid for,
So they pose to help by selling arms,
As if they are selling them charms,
In return of arms they make money,
So much that its not even funny,
On the other hand people also die,
In the region where they don't comply,
They want the entire world to obey,
Their orders and want them to say okay!
As long as one stays this way,
A nice attitude they will display,
But for instance if one says "NO" to them,
At first they get angry and hem,
And then come bans and sanctions,
Penalties all kinds of aggressions,
And still if they are not successful,
They wage a war to make stressful,
So that's what they did in Syria,
It was their anger and hysteria,
Because they couldn't do anything,
And through a war they wanted to sting,
But they forgot that who they are facing,
And what kind of a enemy they are racing?
They already are, their army, replacing,
And because of defeats they are reducing,
The Takfiri terrorists they brought in,
Are ruthless and not even human,
They are ripping chests of people,
And eating their hearts like animal,
So west and its cruel tactics,
Has nothing to do with the ethics,
So once and for all everyone,
Let's finish savagery which has begun.
All rights are reserved. Syed Imon Rizvi
"Hiding Philadelphia"
The ground has cracked open
like an egg,
the shell scattered
all about
the yolk of life
sucked into the rubble
where a child is born
and carried out
like a prayer
an offering
to the silence
of mothers
lost in the
sentences
of the seven
churches
consorting
with angels and
their lampstands
held in the right hand
of a dead man walking
7 stars for branding
plucked from beanstalk
sits the enduring belief
ready or not, for planting,
to harvest the uprooting faith
covered in its
blanket of darkness,
dreaming deep
in dust and ash
embryonic,
a still birth
brought back to life;
the well hidden,
hiding Philadelphia,
reaching upwards
towards the light
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
The sweet fragrance of spices
Fruits ripened lush from mountain gardens
The bouquets of flowers scenting the air
Vivid memories of yesterday
Now the flowers are black petals of death
The souk reeks of burned flesh
As fires from hell fell from above
Those who tilled have become the earth
Scorched and soiled souls, color ceases to exist
In the dream world of eternal fires
Hope is sucked out of you, the dead whom still walk
The nomads with no eyes, lost inside timeless nightmares
I am an artist, who paints with tears
For those whom stories have been buried in hell fires
They lay, facing the heavens, raped of their smiles
Leaving Infants to cry in the night, lamenting in a sea of blood
A child wanders past me, rented and soulless
I take my brush and prey someone will save that one
I am the invisible artist
As I stab myself, my final portrait to the world
One man
Stands
Beneath his white helmet
And demands,
Silence.
Throughout Aleppo.
His stethoscope,
He attaches
To the dust
And listens
From his knees.
The man has
Ten fingers,
A dry brush
And a pair of pliers
To dig like an archeologist.
He does not have years,
But minutes
To search the ruins
For toes
That wiggle
Or mouths
That suckle
Or bleeding hearts
That still beat
Like tremors
In puddles of plaster.
When an apartment building
Of ten stories
Is bombed
By planes
Flown by strangers
And its hallways and closets
And bedrooms
And kitchens
And stairwells
Are pancaked
Into a single floor
Of wreckage
In seconds,
There can be tiny
Zigzagged
Crevices
With, but inches of space
And pockets of air
Left
Where
Former residents
May fill these places
With their slippery bodies
Poured like liquid
Into molds
That harden
While they wait
For a miraculous tap
From Above
Or Below
Or from the Sideways.
Sometimes,
The plaster and gravel
Molds
Blink
Back
With the brown eyes
Of a three year old
Or the trickle of blood
Can faintly be heard
Still flowing
Under
A mother’s skin
In
And through her veins.
To the rubble surgeon,
That is like seeing fireworks
Or hearing tubas,
So, he probes further.
Using his fingernails
Like scalpels,
He unearths
An elbow,
A shoulder,
A chest,
The belly,
Ankle bones
And then, the whole
Of the lightning-shaped body
Releases in one dusty swoop,
Scooped
Into both his hands
And raised above his head
As if on scales
And lifted to the emerald sky,
The weight of the world
Presented to the gods,
A broken body
And a scarred soul
But, yes,
Yes,
Pried
Alive
With the first cry of a second birth
From a saved person
Who’s
On
No one’s side
But for God's.
A CRYING WOMAN IN SYRIA
by Nzongi N. Mwero
A woman on her horse,
All the children crying,
People lay wounds and hurt,
Everywhere scenes of dying,
A crying woman in Syria
Please don’t go cried as a refugee,
For you love your kids so,
Kids must be saved everybody knows,
But please and please do not go as a refugee,
A crying woman in Syria
A hush fell over the battle field,
As soldiers stepped forth,
These soldiers will not repent,
A crying woman in Syria
Soldiers fight with valour and with might,
As they put their guns on the middle of the field,
Women could run and fled,
But patience make their stay,
A crying woman in Syria,
The women go to their houses twice,
As hundreds of gun are shot,
They persevered through everything,
To save their president’s throne,
A crying woman in Syria
Women and children are not saved in Syria,
And who will be their saviour,
That will be truthful to them,
So that they improve their condition of life,
A crying woman in Syria
Oh’ international community,
Oh Africa union,
Provide all your best decision,
To save the women and children in Syria
Syria is their cradle country,
A crying woman in Syria
Where can a woman or a child run or fastest,
Oh, international community,
Oh, Africa union,
Do not lose the race of helping Syria,
People are spread with gun fire smoke,
People are fed with daily bombings,
People are tired with army vehicles,
A crying woman in syria
Paris, Syria, the World at Large
Said the people punished by war,
"Boom! Boom! Boom!
The resounding tremors amplify the echo,
contribute to the constancy and duress.
Glued to the news,
what more can we do?
The good die.
The bad sometimes eradicated.
Every heart lights up with hate or compassion.
Extremism burns from both ends of the rope.
The ideology of faiths sing many tunes.
I am right, no!
No, I am right!
No one is ever wrong.
Corpses of both innocent and guilty
rot in the rubble of war.
We humans pursue the inner demons of anger,
to knowingly destroy the order of life.
A demented set of people we all are."
(Open our Hearts, Hug someone and say peace)
11/17/2013 © Al. Juman The "said" Poet
Type In (Al. Juman) For A relaxing and astonishing moment with all my POEMS
Barrel bombs fall like summer rain
From a clear blue sky,
Causing suffering and pain,
Causing kids to die.
People flee a war-torn home,
You can hear them scream.
And to Europe thousands roam,
A relentless stream.
Unseen from high altitude
Death comes silently
With absolute certitude
Life led violently
All that’s left a shattered ground,
A broken landscape;
Nothing left for them to pound,
Nowhere to escape.
No one to turn to,
Nowhere can be found a friend,
No one comforts you
When will all the suffering end?
President Putin's having Turkey for Christmas dinner this year!
I think with stuffing inside it
Will he be having second helpings?
You now would think Khadaffi falling
From the stool was first the shaping
For the world to come. Listen
Loudly the silent deaths of forest leaves falling abroad
From Sudan to Syria, pen
The Arab spring wilted in the blind Syrian discord
It is not black and white any more
The tangled thread dropped at our door
Ends go north and south, then west
Neither in religion or puzzled economics
Does the burden bends a mind lest
From the busy covert trend of paltry politics
Counting bodies is collateral
To the objective rational
Appeal, I am non-inclined
To trade past doublecross for a paradigm of justice
A southern season slow resigned
From its own vision must drink of drizzled chaos plus this.
Syria, the ears are sleeping
On the hill, truth's promise breaking
Where fall the riot's dead bell
To the stoking furnace bring broken tongue in callous tears
We forge for heaven such a hell
A limp the cadaver of dreams across the slanted years.
Paris, Syria, the World at Large
Said the people punished by war,
"Boom! Boom! Boom!
The resounding tremors amplify the echo,
contribute to the constancy and duress.
Glued to the news,
what more can we do?
The good die.
The bad sometimes eradicated.
Every heart lights up with hate or compassion.
Extremism burns from both ends of the rope.
The ideology of faiths sing many tunes.
I am right, no!
No, I am right!
No one is ever wrong.
Corpses of both innocent and guilty
rot in the rubble of war.
We humans pursue the inner demons of anger,
to knowingly destroy the order of life.
A demented set of people we all are."
(Open our Hearts, Hug someone and say peace)
11/17/2013 © A. Juman The "said" Poet
Type In (A. Juman) For A relaxing and astonishing moment with all my POEMS
Syria
They are playing
Politics
With peoples life
Russian Caviar and
American hamburger
Do not blend
Passover and Iran
Break the bread mates.
And restrain yourself.
Screams, Screeches, groans and wails
Let me tell you Agonies’ tales
And of bullets, bombs and pellet guns
For a person with Heart must know these pains
Here somewhere, kids are blinded; men are jailed
Women are molested; the old are tortured
Lucky, You have a home and a steak to fry
Billions starve and sleep under the frigid Sky
The wild jungles of wars scrambled Humanity
Sighs took over the the throne of sweetest Melody
Deluges of tears washed off the rainbows of joy
Atrocities eager for innocent lives to get destroy
Yet you say the world is beautiful.. ?
That it is benign and bountiful...?
May be yes, for you… as you are at peace!
Come out of your little Palace...
And you will find...
Sky painting itself red...!
Butterflies renouncing their dreams
Birds with trimmed wings
Blood ocean... barren trees... burnt houses...
Teared eyes... and shattered bodies….
People live their lives in fear everywhere
Along Syria, Yemen, Palestine and Kashmir
Earth is ugly, jinxed and savage
For humanity sobs, as her soul is damaged
26-7-20 (Paghunda)
(This was my first poem on soup, reposted it with some changes)
Funny
No longer
Seems as funny
When
Syrian
Tax
Dollar money
Purchased by the power
Of social media
Reigns down from a sky
Where children die
And dreams are bled
On broken crying parents beds
Funny's just is not
Funny
When it revolves around money
In this cynical old world
Where countless masses
Syrian
Tax
Money
Begs the question
Who is the real dummy
And where is this poor child's
Cold laid out Mummy
Slaughter in Syria by the pound
The rebels take their place under ground
Shell shocked children in a school of fire
Assad revels in his twisted desire.
The armies of the Bear unleash their goods
Assad taking his anger to the neighborhoods.
A world in sorrow a place of death
the people of Syria take their last breath.
The world is a stage in a tyrannical flood
the smell of death the rivers of blood.
The flight from horror is a fanciful dream
for the people of Syria nights filled with screams.
The leaders of tomorrow should now take heed
for the rebel in the streets are a different breed.
They die for their country they die for what's right
they cry out for their freedom to the Heavenly light.
What will be the outcome in a future so bleak ?
for peace and love is all they seek .
By Larry Hays