A Prayer for Syria

I saw this photo essay in The Atlantic magazine website recently and couldn't let go of this picture below. I was so haunted by it that I had to write a poem to help me process the heartache.

A Wounded Syrian Girl

The Atlantic 

I pray for your young men and women

Fast and strong, full of life

But not faster than the bullets

And not stronger than the bombs

I pray.


I pray for your children

Playful but disrupted

Innocent but victims

Their ears ringing with the shrieks of violence

Overpowering their natural born song


I pray.


I pray for your elderly

Whose years tell the stories

Of a very ancient people

Your elderly who long for the not so long ago

Peaceful years that feel like they have never existed


I pray.


I pray for your babies, Mother

Growing up to the shattering of rockets

To the trembling of destruction

To the confusion of not having a home

Within their home


I pray.


For your mothers and your fathers

For they proudly bear the weight of the Motherland

That is being slaughtered yet again, mercilessly

They understand

Land, only land. Not Mother, not Father

Your children leaving you without...

Because they cannot save you


I pray for you, Syria.

I pray for your peace.