I am Syria! I start where the waters of the Pacific end, run down, lost, miserable, impotent, idle, unable to move, or act, endlessly submissive to «Destiny», unable to be, all the way through the beaches of the Indian Ocean.
I am Syria! Who is Arab but I? I am Syria; I come from Iraq, from Palestine, from Djibouti, from the camps of misery in Lebanon, from the all the alleys of misery in the Arab land.
I am Syria! I am the refugee of the new camps of the world, and its new terrorists.
I am but groups of women and children who wander miserably across the streets of Beirut. I am the middle-aged men who pile their children, their money, their goods and what is left of their living flesh in cheap boats, sailing towards uncertainty - drowning in the Mediterranean or drowning in humiliation at the borders of Western countries. I am lumps of people, colorless, nameless, without any past or future, with no present or stories to tell. I am the planet’s «new terrorists», banned from its Paradise.
I am terrorism and I am its victims.
I am pro-regime, I am anti-regime. I am caught up in a byzantine debate over cause and effect as my children disappear in a sea of blood. I am innocent, the victim of the «game of nations.», while my finger is on the trigger, firing at the faces of those whose names and souls I wiped.
I am the barefoot of the cities, roaming down dead ended streets, bewildered, like orphans. Do not forgive those who rendered me homeless, for they know what they are doing. And Father, do not forgive me, for I did not stand up to my oppressors.
I am Syria! I am the pleasant, jasmine-lined streets that were hit by fire. A fire that won’t stop spreading until it reaches the four corners of the earth.