Were it not that Syria is hanging round my neck
Like the albatross of the Ancient mariner
Were it not that Syria was shot in the heart
Were it not that the owl will not call my name
As it is flying away towards the sun of freedom
Were it not for the death of children
And the endless processions of suffering
Were it not for the crosses heaped upon crosses
As more and more blood stained albatrosses
Rush to their sacrificial deaths
I would have tossed colours gleaming like jewels
And repainted the world
But the albatross is heavy round my neck
And the mysterious owl will not call my name
And fly with me to count the falling stars.
Perhaps the phoenix will call my name and Syria’s name
As it rises from its ashes, as it rises.
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is a poem written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge in 1789. The image of the albatross which the ancient mariner kills with a crossbow while sailing, was interpreted as representing many things: hope, freedom, flight, holiness of life and innocence. Only by redeeming his crime could the ancient mariner find salvation.