By Ahmed al-Hassan
On the hill of sadness I lie, staring into the star-less skies.
On the train of no destination where no one smiles.
The train always stops and fills up with sighs.
We're not surprised, but reminded of our hopeless lives.
I'm leaving my country, where my heart lies.
Who am I? And who are we?
What's this fire? And whose is this army?
Time passes and sooner my death becomes
A moment flies, misery ties up peoples’ tongues,
I take a breath, let me fill up my lungs,
Give me a break, I'm a yearner of the sun
He told me not to worry, but that’s all that was in my mind,
Daddy’s sorry, he’s not coming back, his fate’s been signed .
My happiness I buried, to stick to my depression I am inclined,
Soldiers are killing their dear brothers, merciless dishonor.
Poisoning the wombs of their mothers,
And violating the daughters.
Your whole being I hope it will smother, Veins became wastewater,
To think the ignorant ones didn't bother,
After all, pigs are to be slaughtered.
Why do we bleed from wounds which are old?
Are people not killed, and are not all rights just sold?
People are starving in my country, if not dying,
and on my bed, like a coward I'm uselessly lying.
A beautiful memory murdered,
It's about time I go further,
My beauty lies in a pool of blood,
Her face is unrecognizable, but
I miss the days her golden strands shone in the face of man,
When humanity bowed, and her voice was loud,
but now, the calmness of death creeps in a distance,
And humanity is only for the Jews and Christians.
Our hometown has been in the dark,
And its raped rights are quite stark,
My hometown will see the sun,
In its green meadows, I'll run.
That is when you and your people shall leave us alone,
When the tyrant's ruled ruins shall turn to stone,
Then will daylight slip through the sad rainy clouds,
And joy shall finally fill the patiently waiting.
My daddy is coming, I feel it, it's hope being planted
God is with us, I believe freedom is near if He granted
Only He can resurrect, only He can bring my baby back.
My murdered golden beloved.
My beautiful stolen Syria.
They have aligned to become the same,
My sorrow is equal, the same as my pain.
The shape of her lips painted on my cheeks,
And the smell of her hair makes nostalgia leak,
And so for my long-lost baby, I lie and weep.
Ahmed al-Hassan is a poet, short story writer, graphic designer, photographer and high school student originally from Syria. Currently living in Istanbul, Ahmed aspires to get his works published and to improve and gain new skills. He started reading and writing poems in 2016 as a solace and a way to express himself.