Peacefully they had marched on
Voices raised, not fists
Pleading for freedom,
For a chance to breathe without fear.
But what truly is freedom?
Is it worth twelve million displaced souls
Cities leveled into dust
And dreams buried beneath rubble?
What began as peaceful
Became a wound the world blinked past
Sores etched into memory
Scars broadcast, then forgotten.
The headlines have moved on
But the grief remains
Mothers still hold pictures
Fathers still dig with bare hands.
We all say we want peace
But does peace bloom from war
Or from compassion that costs us nothing?
Why must love be so rare it becomes rebellion?
There is talk of peace..Yet Much conflict goes on' where are the drainstream media.? When such bad things in islam are
Going on.' Is there only one prisim? Through which the world can be viewed..I answer no.' As the false dawn of the
Insitu; behemoths is cut away.' a sad fractured reality
Comes now into our view.'
From Syria’s land where silence wept,
Our hopes arose. From grief they leapt.
Through broken streets and skies so grey,
We aimed for light with feet of clay.
We sang a song, so calm and rare,
Against the chains, against despair.
Hand in hand, we dug for light,
To chase away the endless night.
With every breath,we marched for dawn,
And Syria's soul was then reborn.
13/12/2024
Sic semper tyrannis thus always to tyrants. Rebel rebel rebel ! Storms of rebellion topple his brutal regime capture the capital, Damascus liberation celebration. His brutal regime…millions fled for their lives while squashed beneath his iron fist thousands flee who stood by him as his subject's writhe and perish ‘neath chemicals unleashed. Luxury, an extensive car collection rarest of Ferrari’s, Lamborghini Diablo and Rolls-Royce there in his obscenely opulent palace while nine out of ten live in destitute fleet discovered models of his choice. His brutal regime new-found freedom explores an opulent residence torture chambers crumble, captive return to your loved ones as rebels seize the nation’s reigns asylum granted to an ousted leader. Bashar al-Assad in Moscow Assad has fled his country
see how it settles
upheaval with no clear path~
‘tis heaven or hell?
Syria, unshackled by the three crimson stars, twinkling so free
Yearning for so long, for the green field, the future to be
Ripping off the blood-stained past of every sin and atrocity
In his strength, he made the lions and they dynasty flee
And they, the Guardians of the Syrian Homeland, became free
"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 Russians have made it quite plain
Life is something that they disdain
They plan to destroy
Every girl and boy
In Syria and the Ukraine!
Syria, my lovely
Asma al-Assad, the wife of the president in Syria
her crime is to be married to Bashir al- Assad.
Since the president of Syria is sitting pretty, they had to find a softer target hence his wife.
Hadn´t she defended the Syrian army, said they were brave
they must be after ten years of war?
Remove her British citizenship, and we shiver by the thought.
There was an insurrection, and it was crushed.
It could have stopped there if the west had not meddled and
American bombs terrorized the civilian population.
This endless war many Syrians fled, who can blame them?
NATO, too, got involved, this dangerous beast full of generals looking for a fight.
any action, as long it has a pre-fix, “democracy.”
Assad´s chemical attack on the civilian population, surely a war crime.
A Canadian reporter said it didn´t happen, it staged by the white helmets, and no one was reported dead.
The lady reporter had upset the narrative, was sent home in disgrace and now covers handball matches in Seven Rivers.
I Denmark they are sending the Syrians back they say it is safe, they will be safe if the west will stop interfering
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)
Raising the slogans won't make it any better.
Dare to accept the truth,
All lives matter.
Does that sound better,
Islam is the way out,
Quran is the light out.
Read it I promise you will later have no doubt,
As from it I have learned
All lives matter.
The Boy from Syria
Made me think about life and hysteria
The Boy from Syria
Smiled and left me shocked
The Boy from Syria
Can not afford a bicycle, I didn't say I had a car
The Boy from Syria
Had not found a job yet from the time I met him last year
The Boy from Syria
Left with a hope saying do let me know if you find something my dear
The Boy from Syria
Left me questioning of how ungrateful I am of all in life
The Boy from Syria
Froze the clock for me to find how I can be so blind
The Boy from Syria
Taught me how faith can be a fire and hope the air
The Boy from Syria
Taught me of how Truthfulness can withstand losses even there is not a buyer
A Remnant of War
Here I am,
A remnant of war,
Here I lay, broken and riddled with arrows and acrimony
As I watch the birds fly away with my bloodied eyes.
The sky is as grim as the reapers
Who unleashed hell on us,
Ambushing us, we harmless hands,
Isn't that cowardice?
The field is bloody
The vultures are ready
To eat of the carcass that lay open;
What was once a man's body
Now food to be fed upon.
With my weary eyes staring into nothingness,
I mourn within,
My heart filled with sadness
For an unfortunate remnant of war,
A representative of a dead race.
©Zoe
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
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because...
Who do we blame?
Surely, we are guilt-free
Our hands are clean,
So in a conversation we strive to expound a reason
A reason for the atrocities in the name of religion.
They have found their messiah,
We have found my generation's bones
Strewn about in kaleidoscopic formations,
For a world to admire the might of their bombs.
Still we talk at our dinner tables, our coffee houses and over online media.
Talking and doing nothing.
Trying to understand why nothing is being done.
We have swallowed our anger and learned logic
A cold logic that informs the futility of any action.
But know this, with every "because", there is one bullet penetrating into an innocent's flesh.
Now tell me, are we entirely guilt-free?
On This day I picked your eyes
And wrote in my diary
Snow is gazing guys
Buries within
I am a giant heater who
Welcomes you all in my quarters
And my hands are so so big
That the Hell they bestow you will
The black giant came then close to me
And the sky went all dark
Like grand ma’s eyes
My parent are the same color as ground
And I am the same color as ground
The soil takes care of me
Since my parents reside in ground
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