Faerie Thorn

FAERIE THORN

There is a thorn tree

That we do not touch.

We farm about it,

Tip-toe the machinery

 In awkward circles

Around its territory.

                                                               It is an invader 

In our field, but

It has far out-lived

Each one of us.

It stated its claim

                                                            On the fertile land

                                                         Long before Grandpa

Was even born.

And so we leave it,

Just in case,

Its death-curse is true.

                                                        At night, figures dance             

Around it, in my dreams.

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Where are the people of Hama?

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.

سورية

الله اكبر

Tearing through the streets, gunfire calls.

Through the pleasant painted veil, it rips the sky.

الله اكبر- الله اكبر

Allah u akbar, Allah u akbar

God is great, God is great.

Broken bones, burns, bottles lying in the street

abandoned in sad celebration and blood-thirst

 

Ash-hadu al-la llaha ill Allah, Ash-hadu al-la llaha ill Allah

Remember the days when men disappeared. Good men,

free men. And children, boys, buried in a shallow grave.

Ash-hadu anna Muhammadan Rasulullaah

The wails of mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers

clutching the corpses of the past and dead.

 

Ash-hadu anna Muhammadan Rasulullaah

I remember laughter, the high cry of clucking tongues.

Rich scented air, souks and markets, proud sand-yellow history.

Hayya la-s-saleah – Hayya la-s-saleah

I remember joy, the warm sound of the Mosque at hot dusk.

The open sky and desert stars, brighter here than anywhere

 

Hayya la-l-faleah – Hayya la-l-faleah

But you will only remember bloodshed, remember pain.

You will have forgotten the people, and remember revolution.

الله اكبر- الله اكبر

Allah u akbar, Allah u akbar

And I, I bury my head in my hands and cover my eyes.

So as not to see my childhood crumble.

 

La Ilaha ill Allah

At night I can still hear that call,

the forgotten call for peace

الله اكبر- الله اكبر

Allah u akbar, Allah u akbar

God is great, God is great.