With Love, From Syria

To The World, I hope this letter reaches you in the best of your health. As I am on my last legs, not sure whether you even remember or not but it just crossed my mind that maybe I owe you an apology. I know you are pretty furious at me, I am sorry for the unknown. We were friends earlier, but I don’t know what just happened in a blink of an eye. I don’t know what happened that you starting attacking and bombing parts of me. No, I am not complaining. Not complaining at all. I am just sharing; sharing the ghastly feelings inside me. I am down and out, pal. I am being wiped and smashed daily, every second of every moment. I feel so wrenched and demoralized. I just wish the ground would swallow me up. It hurts. Every inch of me hurts. It is like I am being wounded on the same spot, my heart. At least I deserve a break, no? I was peeking at one on my organs the other day, and you know what? I look so terrible. The paint was peeling off. I was all black. I was grim with dirt. And I had this weird smell of neglect-tion. I really need a shower I guess.

Hey, I know you are furious at me. I know I must have done something terribly wrong. Otherwise why would you hurt your friend and its children? I understand your good intentions. I honestly do. I might sound sugar sweet but I am not kidding man. Not kidding at all. After all we are all your mercy. I just request you to help me out. I miss that humming of bees even the bray of donkeys. The croak of frogs and chirping of sparrows no longer soothes my ear. All I hear is weeping; weeping of my children, and then their children. It is like a chain; a continuous chain of misery. It sucks for me, for I can’t even answer their muted cries. They question me daily. They curse me for being their care taker. I know it is my entire fault. The ripping is my fault. They used to decorate me earlier. They found home on me. They kept me all cheerful. They celebrated events with me. We were one happy place. I was their home. They were my life. And ahh, they made babies in me. And oh, how much I miss the tickles I had when the little ones danced and played on me.

My heart lurches for I don’t know what the future awaits. I know my downfall is evident. Even the sky that covers me up is pewter colored and patched with ominous black clouds. Every day I wake up sobbing, drenched in sweat and in fear. Nights are even more dreading. As those cries run shrilly at night. Fighting back tears of fear, all I do is: Stare motionless at the approaching danger. Infinite parts of me die daily; infinite parts of me still wait being blown. I have this grief held at bay and I certainly refuse to give in to sorrow. It is not yet time maybe? Maybe grief was a gift? Something you had to earn and there are still unfinished things I have to do. Then and only then I can make peace with the past.

I weep at the cruelty of fate. I am nothing now. I am draped in darkness. Bare walls haunt me. I want my children to laugh again. I want them to smile. I want them to dance, flirt, study and earn recognition. I hate being objectified. They think I am motionless. But I want them to understand that yes I am as helpless as they am but I am not in-human. My heart throbs with them. Agony rips me too. But children, I want you to understand that time passes. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging wills, but pass it does. This too shall pass. Friend, only if you could see in my eyes for miles and miles, yet nowhere in their bottomless depths could you see the contradictions to the words I have spoken.

Events come and go. I can see my neighbors, my brothers and their brothers enjoying the celebrations; Christmas, Eid, New year, Easter and what not... Ironic it is that the only day of celebrations I have is when the death rate is below 100.

My pain isn’t located. The burning is everywhere, in everything. My face; my arms; my back, permeating passes every inch of my flesh. It spreads through my entire body, eating away all my tissues and muscles and bones.

Why am I even saying that? When I already know how angry you are. Again, my fault. After all my children raged you. And I born them so it is all my fault. I have been trying my best to take the bull by horns. But I have no clear estimate of when I might depart.

I won’t ask you for anything. But I want you to pass my little message to your children. It is something my little 5 years old kid has to say: “I have been looking for my Mama for the past 2 months. She said she will get me my bottle of milk. I don’t know what happened next, she was just two doors away when a sudden boom and my home was engulfed in pretty yellow flames, although the air was choking hard. It was all dark then. I woke up in a strange uncle’s arms. He is a nice uncle. But he feeds me bad leaves. I don’t like that taste. But there is nothing else to eat. My stomach growls. I miss Mama. They say she is safe with my brothers and sisters. Baba had gone to the super market 4 months earlier; he too danced with those flames. Mama said we will all soon meet Baba. But she had said we’d go together. Have you seen her? She has a beautiful face and she makes the best food in the world. Tell her I am waiting for her to come and take me back to our home. I too want to be with Baba. I miss my family. Uncle says we are being punished. But I promise I never committed bad. Maybe they misunderstood me for someone. So please don’t hurt me. Just give me Mama. I miss her.”
I am sorry. With love, From Syria.