If you're wondering who you are, I can tell you.
You're nothing. Nothing but a number,
and sometimes they don't even count you.
Your fate is in the hands of men in black suits
appearing on TV channels, shaking hands
and discussing how to kill you.
You're like millions here,
working in hospitals, in schools, in bars
from 7a.m. to 6p.m., running after a bus under
the rain, and feeling hungry and cold
after the 20th day of each month.
You will hurt but must never scream.
You're bombed but not allowed to shatter,
don't think you're worth more than a bullet.
You're not a human being.
A human being shouldn't starve this much,
a human being shouldn't hurt this much,
a human being shouldn't sell her
body to a fifty year old
man for a few dollars.
You're an animal. No, not even that. You're
You're just that.
This poem brings the Syrian conflict to our door step. The senselessness of war is so well illustrated here. To exist amongst this chaos must be unbelievable, and to what end, what is left when the smoke dissipates and only ash is left. All for the greed and power of a few. A very graphic and heart wrenching poem. You are right, in war we are not human or animal we cease to exist, all we can hope for is to endure