Thursday, 21 August 2014

In Syria, Small Beds Lie Empty

Oh Syria, where are your children?
Do they gambol through your fields?
Do they laze in the sun while clouds drift by
or picnic beside your olive groves?

They are not learning at school.
They are not seated at your table
or dreaming in their beds.
Oh Syria, where are your children?

Did they taste the hatred of your words?
Did they tremble at the drumming in your veins
and fly, small victims of your bludgeoning arms,
into paradise, or someplace in-between?

Oh Syria, stand down! You squander
the seeds of your future. Your children
are as songs gathering voice, tender buds 
unfolding to renew torn horizons.

Without them, love cannot be.
Without them, hope is empty as their beds.
Oh Syria, embrace your innocents
or suffer forever beneath guilt's yoke.

© Darrell Petska