Freedom, From Aleppo

Today, we bid our goodbyes
To a world that never cared
Enough for us,
Drowning us in a sea of disdain

Today, we bid our goodbyes
To the struggles that kept us alive
To the celebrations that
Danced among our bodies

Today, we bid our goodbyes
To the oppression, the hate
That stifled us
Took away what was ours

Today, we bid our goodbyes
To the massacres and genocides
To the rubble and ash
To the cowardice and despair

Today, we bid our goodbyes
To the false promises
And the pretenses of haven
That led us to believe in a future

Today, we bid our goodbyes
To a world that refused to
Accept we were hurting
To a world that refused us

Today, we bid our goodbyes
To the hate, the apathy, the prejudice
To the people that wrongfully took
Over our mantle and bred in the wave of
Fear and violence that you projected

Today, we bid our goodbyes
To the futures of our children
To the futures of our hope and dreams
To the futures of our loss

Today, we bid our goodbyes
To the violence and destruction
That we now considered
C’est la vie

But most of all,
Today we bid our goodbyes
To the controls on our freedom,
The claws that threatened
Our very existence

We bid our goodbyes
Knowing that we were free
That till the end we didn’t
Let them enslave us
That we got what we had always wanted
That our freedom was worth the fight

We bid our goodbyes to
A world that had
Long forgotten us
Yet, against all odds,

We bid our goodbyes
Hoping, that you remember us.

X

Last night, I saw a video that shook me to my core. A teacher in Aleppo was filming his goodbye video with the militia 300 meters away. He talked about how the world had ignored them, how the UN did not care, it was satisfied with the loss of their lives and the destruction. He said that the violence had become normal. He hoped that even now, the world would take action, to ensure that the children of Syria have a future. He ended by saying that even though they would fall, they would fall knowing that they were, that they got what they wanted- freedom. He hoped that the world didn’t forget them.

When I first learnt of the Syrian Civil War, I was 14, and was hopeful, and rather ignorant in thinking that the conflict would resolve in a year or so, if not a few months. Today, I stand on the brink of 18, and still continue to hope that this conflict will end. But I also hope that we never forget the atrocities, because when we forget, we lose what makes us human.

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Bespoke
Flee

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Crimson River Part III

Oh, how she wished
To see something
Other than the frosty white
That covered her surroundings with all its might

Her keen grey eyes
Spotted all
From the grey cat that tore her frock
To the grey men that tore her land

Oh! How she wished
To see something
Other than the frosty white
That covered her surroundings with all its might

At night, she heard a private concert
With carpets falling from the skies
And brick grinding to rubble
A concert indeed, just for her lucky ears!

Some mornings, she hit the jackpit
Where she awoke to see
The frosty white that covered her
Surroundings with all its might

Replaced by ashen grass
And charred lands
How the white had some colour
And no longer a pale pallor

But one morning,
Oh! What luck she had
For the skies blazed orange
And the frosty white that covered her
Surroundings with all its might

Finally wore a rouge blush.
Chased by brown dots
Her grey eyes found the black hollow
And alas, her wish was granted

As she joined the crimson river. 

Ghost

 

X-X-X

Third installment in my 3 part series titled Crimson River
This one is about a civilian killed in combat
Do read parts I and II

 

Crimson River Part II

They sent us off
With promises of glory
‘Bearers of Victory’ they called us
Upholders of righteousness.

We fell like 10 little soldiers
Until there was but one
The one they called the victor
And honored with metal.

The one came home
And thought, ‘Alas,  can sleep without
The music of bullets, the symphony of
Bazookas and the orchestra of tanks.’

Little did he know that those
Sounds were etched into his eardrums.
That instead of his pulse reminding
Him of his mortality, the cacophony
Would remind him of his impending doom.

The grass that once used to be green
Now flows red.
The crimson river he sees
Every time he closes his lids.

He was sent to stop the glacier
Which is perhaps why
His hands are forever icy
His bones forever numb.

But the thing that keeps
Him up at night
The things that made him wish
He woke with amnesia

Are the grey pools
And they way they were drained
And replaced with
Blackness.

Ghost

X-X-X

The second part in my 3 part series titled Crimson River
This one is about a war veteran with PTSD
Do check out parts I and III