Here is not our place

Find me

in the piling rubble

the floating sands

of buildings that once gave shelter.

Find me

in between the bodies

the torn limbs

of your parents, your wife

Your sons and daughters.

Your legs are weary

of too much running

Your soul, grown older than this land.

Find me

Beneath the plastic boats

In the cold salt water

A hundred feet under

Find me

in the loud weeping

of tears run dry

The sound of takbeer

of men who have been robbed.

Here is not the eternal ground

and is never meant to be.

I, will be your home

I am your resting place.

Note from the author:

1. This poem was written to raise awareness on the Syrian War refugees. I wrote this a while back. But since another rise of war crime in Aleppo has started, it is good to be shared again.

2. The ‘me’ and ‘I’ in this poem means Jannah (heaven).

3. Let us be reminded of our fortunes and blessings, and keep those who are not as fortunate in our prayers. That’s the least we can do to help, if not make proper donations for them.

4. To raise more awareness on this, share!

By,

Farid Fathurrahman Suhaimi, Johor Bahru.

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