They used to tell me stories

of a fight of fire

of a life that no longer existed

Golden memories scratched with a knife

heroes left in the childhood books

only enemies and victims

carrying cold  hearts while still trying to beat hard 

Only in their hearts

the memory of a life with

a  sister

a mother

a father

a child could be seen.

They told me about the fear

what was the truth behind the news

One of them cried for homesick

while the other one never said anything

They told me the truth between the selected stories

things which didn’t bear the sunlight

things that were never meant to exist

There was silence

left with peace and hope so small  

in  hidden emotions

in those empty young hearts

One day he mentioned the valley

and lighted up the magic paper

he made me watch and listen

“True story habibti” he said 

and I could see

the beating heart of a numb man

This is Syria he said

and showed me the destruction

as I looked into his eyes

as I didn’t have any words

only my small world to give

which they called the beginning.




2 thoughts on “Syria

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