I have to continue bearing witness for the children of Syria, to continue addressing the conscience of the world and drawing attention to the little people of Syria. What Chance has a new born or a baby against the Scud missiles raining erratically on peaceful villages and towns crowded with children? About 37 per cent of the population in Syria are children under fourteen, which can make me safely surmise to a certain extent that 45% of the population are children. While intruding on the private sorrows of young children and registering their deaths, I am not trying to sadden you or beg you to shed tears. Only a crime on an epic scale is being committed in Syria and perpetrated under the very eyes of the world. I am not trying either to convince you to take sides because this is not fair in view of the fact that most of you do not know what is happening or are too distracted by daily concerns to care or pay attention. If the world we live in has evolved morally as it has evolved technologically, it would have by now developed a fairer global system to ensure freedom and justice to all the people of the world regardless of geopolitical greed and the drive for supremacy; a country as old as history or older would have been saved by now.
I am being held prisoner, held captive by the suffering of the people of Syria but especially by that of the children. You might say I am being selfish and over-assuming but believe me I need to be liberated, I desperately need to sleep at night without being haunted by the terrible screams of children in pain. Because I cannot do much, my penance has been and is this bearing of witness. I am a poet and an artist who has always courted joy and the passionate celebration of life in her work, therefore to live with death and suffering is not a choice of mine. Yet it is the very lyricism and intensity of hankering after beauty which my art has lived by that compels me to choose to be with the children whose lives knew no beauty, no sunsets or sunrises, who will never run or dance. If the killing stops, if the unspeakable suffering ceases, I might find peace again and hold my brush to paint the light that turns the sea into a sea of diamonds.
Credits: the images below were all posted to Facebook by professional photographers, or by citizen journalists and photographers.
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ADAPTED July 2014
Pictures are chosen from Facebook and Google