Childhood in Syria

            Childhood in Syria 

My soil is ploughed with the runnel of blood

My house is demolished by a noxious bomb

And then They gifted my small hands 

with a vigorous lethal gun

I used to go to school laughing and bobbing with my dad 

But they slit his throat in the middle of the market 

And now they train me to place the bombs

I used to play football in the ground next to my house in Aleppo

The ground is now a graveyard 

Where my dad and uncles are lying dead

I was the apple of my sister’s eye 

Pampered with love all the time

They took her away one night 

And Imprisoned her in their tents as slave

Maa used to make kanafeh for me swirling the aroma of caramel in the air

But now they serve me food hard to eat and let me sleep on floor

My wounds are deep and my voice is weak 

But I still hope a tomorrow when I will grow 

Help me world help me to live 

Please take this fear away from my heart 

And give me my childhood back. 

7 thoughts on “Childhood in Syria

  1. GEETHA RAVINDRAN

    It is indeed such a cruel fate that small kids are destined to be harassed and killed. The narration gives the pathetic picture that tortures our hearts……..

    Reply

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