We move down the new streets
Concrete at our feet
And admire the careful architecture
Of the city on the Orontes
Where Water flows like life itself.
And down the slim streets we tour,
Without a breath of sound
No gun-fire, or cries, not a whisper.
And as we walk, we ask
In this city of revolution,
A city which no one saw fall
Why is it so silent now?
Figures rush from corner to corner
Shrouded in the dust of the walls
They sprang from, and are gone again.
Where are the people of Hama?
And an old man answers
A single survivor,
Pointing to the earth, the city buried beneath.
“Here they are.” He says. “Here are the people of Hama.”
And under our feet, a thousand lie
Trapped by the regime and the concrete
Which hides and forgets
Where a city once stood
And was buried alive.