This weekend after finding excuse after excuse not to watch the recently released documentary Cries for Syria my husband put it on the television telling me I had to see it. I watched, I cried, I watched, I cried.
As the Trump regime soap opera goes on and jokes are made about the bromance between Trump and Putin, as we go on with our lives debating if Syrians are really refugees or just terrorists in refuges make-up, we all need to see this film and realize that although the details change the core remains the same, families destroyed cities, destroyed, because of greed, megalomania, and apathy. Here are a few moments of the film that haunt my dreams
Notes from Cries for Syria
I do not know what my dreams are
her eyes are full of tears
that she holds for a moment at bay
For the war to end?
For the killing to stop?
To go home?
the tears spill out
I do not know what my dreams are
you should know that it started
with eleven and twelve year old boys
bold with red spray cans
covering walls with graffiti
you turn is next, doctor
hinting at an Arab spring in Syria
only after their tortured and swollen
corpses were returned to the parents
only after a march with photos of
the martyred children
only after songs of peace and reconciliation
only after marches offering roses and water to soldiers
and chants “we are your brothers”
“we are your family”
“we are you”
did the bombing begin
first simple bombs
next infused with chemicals
that burnt lungs and skin and eyes
smothering children who had not been hit
and then the chlorine
chocking the elders, the mothers
the children
you should know they are called
vermin, terrorists, criminals
what did this child do to deserve this?
the man rages as he shakes a child’s
severed calf and foot
up to the planes
and their trails of smoke
and yes it is true
there are luxury hotels in Damascus
and museums you can visit
parks you can walk and if you ignore
war planes passing overhead
you could pretend that
what was, was not
true
little girls squat outside their home
eating leaves from a small bush
the neighbor has told their mother
that they taste like chips
weeks later even these are gone
and the children begin to die
skin hanging off their skeleton bones
eyes excruciatingly large
and yes it is true
there are beaches in Syria
where the elite
smoke out of hookahs
as they drink cocktails
and revel in the sun
the girls had painted their lives
not only the planes overhead
the helicopters, the falling bombs
not only the gutted buildings
the scattered bodies
but also blue skies
and birds, wings spread flying
over green valleys
and towards sloping mountain peaks
rendered in bright colors
as bright as their
preteen smiles that lit up
the school corridor
where the posed for a picture
just before the exhibition was to open
just before they were torn apart
by bombs pointed at the school
pointed at the exhibition hall
pointed at them
a mother was brought
her daughter’s lifeless body
but the detached foot
belonged to another child
where is the humanity
a boy cries out
are these terrorists?
the white helmeted man cries
while pulling a sheet from the gurney
revealing three dead children,
none more than four years old
they bomb
the hospitals
the schools,
the houses
the people
they have killed twenty
members of my extended family.
I have nothing left to love
this is Syria today
but it is also Sudan it is Afghanistan
Pakistan at times, corners of Iraq
it has been Bosnia and Libya
and with all the death but not the bombs
it is Haiti and the Congo
and if we do not find a way
to tear the walls of indifference
to realize that it is all much closer than we think
to create a way to stop it
to make our governments stop the carnage
it will be us
yelling to the sky
while weeping where is the humanity?
where is the humanity?