Dedicated to the souls of Syria’s minorities

At night,

when the earth grows still and begins to dream,

the blood of the fallen rises, whispering

the names of cities, of faiths, of forgotten hymns.

The walls weep for those who no longer speak,

and from the soil emerge

prayers and chants without a name

tears with no religion

hands once lifted to the sky

to God.

In villages erased from memory,

where no camera ever came,

where no prayer was heard,

they slaughtered hope slowly,

and cast identity into the river,

saying: We cleansed the land of the infidels.

Each claimed their martyr in their own tongue,

while the spirits wandered

uncertain which heaven might receive them,

or which fire.

A woman stitched her child’s name to her chest

when bodies could no longer be counted,

and a man swallowed his last song

so no one would say

he prayed in another language.

One. Two. Three. A hundred. A thousand.

There is no end.

They died. They vanished.

They were taken.

They were us.

O world,

do not ask how many

they were names,

they were stories,

they were love, flesh, and blood.

They were us.

Like you. Like us.

We are them.

Do not stay silent.

The grief of one people

is the grief of all peoples.

And still

we repeat ourselves.

We repeat our mistakes.

But I promise you

I promise everyone:

we will find a way out of this labyrinth.

The past and the present are knotted,

tangled into a single thread

growing heavier each day.

Every fate bound to another.

Blood.

Threads.

History.

Repetition.

Victims.

Knots.

Blood.

Massacres.

Now.

Murder in the labyrinth.

Fate stretched thin.

Every action we take is tied.

I promise to untangle this knot,

even at the end.

We live within the apocalypse,

and the apocalypse lives in us.

Why do we let others die

so we can go on breathing?

Why feed death

with the sacrifice of life?

What deception makes us think

we are ever in the right?

Sometimes, we must let go

so something may return.

Are we leaving life behind, or death?

Or are we simply abandoning the fallen?

Don’t worry

we’ll find a way through this madness.

Don’t keep looking

at the corpses of the innocent.

Please

don’t shoot.

Don’t do it again.

Believe me, it won’t work.

It’s already been done.

Beware

the circle will stay closed

unless we break it.

We must escape the labyrinth.

Please, learn.

Isn’t repeating the same pain

the definition of madness?

I promise,

I will find the way.

Don’t believe otherwise.

Let time turn back.

Let every soul

find shelter in my heart.