The winter nights and the sad moon, is the looming victory for Damascus, a place of the roses and jasmine.
The child is dropped and he is injured and the pain and nostalgia are growing-up.
The plant grows in a fields of orchards.
On the voice of cursed people, the melody, the tone are broken, the noise is to enlarge the anger.
On the voice of cannons and decisions of mad people the country bleeds and it increases the pain.
Fighting brothers will only benefit the enemies and the crazy people.
Down with arms, a long life for the fluttering flags on Sham’s yards, white Aleppo, there where the voice of truth and the sounds of composers are increasing.
Cool and peace upon Syria, the homeland of wheat and jasmine
Ottawa International Poets and Writers for human Rights (OIPWHR)
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