I recited this poem for the first time from Lafayette Park, across the street from the White House in Washington DC, Saturday 23 July, 2011, during a rally of the Syrian American community who came from all the states, and also from Canada and Europe, to support the Syrian revolution which is seeking freedom, dignity and regime change. This location was chosen to put more pressure on the Obama administration to take more serious and effective political, economic and legal actions against the Syrian regime. Some of the Syrian political and ideological opposition icons participated in the rally. The Syrian world class musician Malek Jandali also participated with his new song “My homeland is me”. The poem glorifies the Syrian cities, by name and one by one, which took the lead in the revolution. It was recited again during my 6th. Poetry event titled “The Arab Revolutions in the Eyes of Poetry, Music and Cartoons” in the Arab American Cultural Center in Houston, Sunday September 18, 2011.
A Syrian Love Poem
With a flavor of dignity
Oh Daraa (the Syrian city that started the revolt), my gift to you is love from my heart
Also the title of ‘the mother of all shields’
I also give my love to your children who documented
On the walls that they don’t accept humiliation
Children who woke up a nation which forgot its glory
They lighted its freedom path with candles
They reminded us that Syria was the cradle of civilization
And that dignity is reclaimed with arms, not tears
Flowers like Hamza and Tamer (martyrs) reminded the Syrians
The path of revolution is legitimate in all laws
They also reminded the uncivilized regime that children are ‘red lines’
It is not allowed to hurt them in the civilized world
Daraa is a land from where Sultan (a Syrian historic hero) passed with horses and arms
A land for which history stood silently in respect
But the uncivilized feet invaded it with tanks and cannons
It was dishonored by a regime made of savagery
***
Oh Daraa, I can hear Homs (another Syrian city in revolt)
Roaring from the Gate of Sibaa (Gate of Lions; a neighborhood in Homs)
A name that suits the neighborhood, although the neighborhood is greater
Lions with hearts of steel who are not scared of bullets
From the Gate of Amro to Al-Khalidia (other neighborhoods)
The youth there made the days of the regime like hell fire
They installed fear in its heart and eyes
They made the regime forget how to enjoy sleeping
A city that made its voice heard by the whole globe
Even the world who pretends to be blind witnessed its heroism
A city that raised a hand of iron in the face of the (brutal) regime
A hand that was not known to the homeland but as a hand of silk
A city that redefined bravery all over again
And gave the cowards a bitter title
Homs will never forget that the regime killed its daughter Hajer (a 10 years old martyr)
And jailed Tall (a detained girl) when she was still young
The people will make you pay the price of your crimes
The people will make you pay for that dearly
***
Oh Daraa, here is Hama (another Syrian city) also revolted in your support
A city whose bravery astonished both, friends and enemies
When the injustice prevails, Hama is the first to revolt
But when it is time to sacrifice, it is the most generous
A city that every oppressor wished it to “disappear”
But every brave (Syrian) is proud of it and follows its guiding light
No oppressed (person or area) in the homeland cries for help
But to hear its echoes in the squares of Hama
In Hama, the oppression will end
As the rejection of oppression started in it (the 1982 revolt)
It stood tall when the army of darkness invaded it
It revolted saying that it was not scared of death
It marched asking for freedom while holding its coffin
So the torturer ran away, dressed in fear
He did not recognize he was cheating death
While he was shedding the blood of its people
History left (Roman) water wheels to Hama in order to witness
How time turns against Hamas’ aggressors
***
Oh Daraa, Jessir Al-Shoghour (city) wrote an epic (chapter in history)
It told the regime “leave in order to save lives
Leave, so we build the future of the homeland
Leave us as we got bored of you
We did not find goodness from your face
But we found death coming from your eyes
You rained on your men, billions of dollars
You rained on us, bullets from your pharmacy
Al-Zaweya Mountain (Syrian city) which fought the colonials (1920’s)
‘Was not spared from your shelling, from death
The Mountain which Hanano (Syrian resistance hero in the 1920’s) made a symbol
You made it a killing theater and a death shrine
But after you made us get used to the darkness of prisons
We emerged to the light to bring you down from your majesty
After you made us refugees, we will return
We will live the life of freedom which your life does not know”
***
Oh Daraa, do you know who also joined from the east to support you?
Al-Boukamal (city) stood up and asked the oppressors to leave
Al-Dair (Dair Al-Zore city) revolted and said
‘Living with the executioners is impossible’
Al-Hassakeh (city) told them that it will always be in their throat
And that it will wait for their departure no matter how long it takes
The land of the Euphrates told the regime
“If there are (foreign) agents around, they are you, the killers of the people
We did not know you for decades but as a killer
A killer who likes to walk in the funeral of the killed”
No cleric can make a bad regime good
No money can turn the hyena into a horse
***
And from the coast, Oh Daraa, there rushed to your help
Jableh, Banyass and Latakia of the Arabs (Syrian coastal cities)
From there came Jammal and Qassam (2 Syrian heroes who fought the colonials)
Heroes who didn’t disappoint their homeland
The oppressors couldn’t humiliate the grandparents in the past
No surprise the grandsons are revolting against the oppressors today
The coast which bloodied the colonial armies yesterday
Is writing today that the time of freedom is imminent
Therefore, Oh Daraa, you should bind up your wounds, but don’t have hard feeling
Evil comes from individuals, but people (in general) are good as gold
Evil doesn’t come from sects or tribes
But from individuals whose hearts are defective
At least semi-men look like men
But the torturers of the children don’t even belong to the human race
Nizar (a celebrated Syrian poet) wasn’t unjust when he called them butchers
And he wasn’t unfair when he compared them to scabies
Shauqi (a celebrated Egyptian poet) wrote that the dictators’ hearts are of stone
What a great poet Shauqi was, and a great poetry he wrote
***
Poetry by: Tarif Youssef-Agha
Lafayette Park, Washington DC
Across the street from the White House
Saturday July 23, 2011