Returning
to rebuild you, my beloved homeland
Returning
to kiss the willow and the olive trees
To you, a love scented with life and peace
and layers upon layers of hidden yearning
We shall return.
JAMAL HASSANI
Aleppo - Age 13
© Artwork by Diana Halabi
The Game of Running Away from Death
The Drowning of Innocent Childhood in Syrian Eyes
When I remember Syria or Syria’s children, the only image that comes to me is that sad and painful picture of a Syrian child, its suffering painted in the blood of the merciless Syrian conflict.
The war has stolen children’s right to live in peace and safety, or to play and learn in schools, as these have been totally destroyed.
Syria has become a military zone, giving lessons in death and revealing a culture of killing on students’ desks.
The war has stripped childhood of its basic rights, so the biggest dream of a child in Syria, is staying alive.
And its favorite hobby is running fast due to sudden bombing. Running away to a safe or a safer place.
They only know one game, everyone takes part in.
The game of running away from death.
Perhaps the image of the Syrian child drowning on Turkish shores, will reflect the extent of the suffering that has moved the whole world.
Syrian childhood’s innocence drowned with that child, and the future of an entire generation went down with it.
So save what is left of Syria’s children.
FADI AL-AHMAD
Aleppo - Age 13
© Artwork by Bassam Alemam
Numbers
10-9 my classroom number
16 my tent number
26 my camp number
3 my classroom desk number
5 my appointment number
3212576 my United Nations card number
A never ending list of numbers
A list that bothers me
And causes me distress.
Back in Syria,
I only saw those numbers in math textbooks
A subject I used to love,
But now, I hate it.
It’s suffocating me day after day
My mother has become a number
My father, another number
My sister, my brother, myself, numbers
… numbers …
And we count the days numbly
Just numbers rolling by
And I wait hopefully
For another number
Of a day that is yet to come
When I will be told
We’re going home, to our country
Then, I will erase these numbers
And carry my identity,
Syria’s identity.
We no longer feel human,
We are robots, with numbers, and no names.
SHOKRI ASKAR
Aleppo - Age 13
© Artwork by Mohamed Kraytem
The ColdWe used to live in our country, safe.
And then we were displaced to Lebanon,
because of war.
I hate winter.
Sitting in our tent, in the harsh cold,
the storm beating the tent’s side walls,
making dreadful sounds.
Every day, my dad used to gather some wood
and cardboards for warmth.
In Syria, I was never cold,
or scared, of winter sounds.
I used to love wintertime,
but now, no longer.
Last winter, children died of cold.
This winter,
I am afraid it will be my turn to go,
or one of my siblings and friends.
My God, take us back to our country Syria,
where we are safe and warm.
FATIMA AL-TAMER
Idlib - Age 10
© Artwork by Fares Cachoux
Innocent Questions
Am I not a child?!
Do I not have a child’s innocence?
And ambitions?!
And that love and purity?
Why do I not live like them?
By what right does my dream get lost?
And with it, my safety?
Who stole my country’s tenderness?
And who traded safety for death?
But I will earn back my rights, despite the sorrows
For love, truth, and kindness,
Over oppression shall prevail.
SHAIMA’ ALOUSH
Homs - Age 12
© Artwork by Laila Hamzeh
May God Help my Country
Bitterness after bitterness
How and where to
Is this story going?
Oppressed souls, broken hearts,
And memories of people
On forsaken house walls.
To whom shall we tell our story?!!!!
Over whom shall we cry?!!
Bitterness again.
A hint of hope.
And we say, we only have God,
He knows how the story goes.
TAGHREED EZZEDINE
Homs - Age 14
© Artwork by Amandine Brenas