Nightfall in Syria (Photo: Emily O'Dell)
Caravanserai in Syria (Photo: Emily O'Dell)
Gone are my people, but I exist yet,
Lamenting them in my solitude…
Dead are my friends, and in their Death
my life is naught but great Disaster.
The knolls of my country are submerged
By tears and blood, for my people and
My beloved are gone…
My people and your people, my Syrian
Brother, are dead….What can be
Done for those who are dying? Our
Lamentations will not satisfy their
Hunger, and our tears will not quench
Their thirst; what can we do to save
Them between the iron paws of
Hunger? My brother, the kindness
Which compels you to give a part of
Your life to any human who is in the
Shadow of losing his life is the only
Virtue which makes you worthy of the
Light of day and the peace of the
Night…
These poignant verses are from Khalil Gibran‘s poem, “Dead Are My People,” which he subtitled:
“Written in Exile during the Famine in Syria.”
