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.
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.
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.
Madeleine. E. Vaughan 