06-07-2015, 06:43 AM
Hello, everyone! This is my first poem on here. I actually wrote it last night. There's not really any meter or style, I just kind of wrote it free form. I would definitely consider it a first draft and would love constructive feedback. It's very personal but I would still like to edit it and make it better. Thanks for reading.
My face is pressed in earth,
In the plot I picked to bury my heart.
But here instead, I buried myself.
I surrendered to wait for the day of Judgement.
I will stay here, I think.
Then suddenly a pair of strong hands raises me up.
They are calloused with time and work.
And then I hear a strong voice, with words sparingly chosen.
I am pulled up from the ground.
“T3aa ya Noor. Follow me”
I cough, the air is thick with dust all around,
But I can see the form of a man in front of me,
His face wrinkled and browned by the sun,
Harsh cheekbones protruding but kind eyes.
He raised me, and so I follow.
I am led through curving alleyways.
Cobblestones are blanketed with dust, the air thick with heat.
I trip many times but over what I cannot tell.
Dead vines cover garden walls like barbed wire.
I can make out the remnants of tenements in rubble,
And ancient columns fallen on the avenue.
The man still walks ahead of me, so I run to catch up.
He stops.
The faint echoes of adhan and church bells pierce the silence.
Somehow the dust begins to clear the streets,
And two figures approach.
Two children, a boy and a girl,
Their clothes are ragged, worn, and dirty.
They hold hands as they hop over heaps of rubble,
And come closer.
But to my surprise, they pass us without notice of our presence.
I turn to call out but then my voice chokes.
The girl turns over a body strewn across the street, checks the pockets.
The boy picks up a nearby AK47, checks the bullets.
“What happened here?” I ask, holding back tears.
“Ya Ein Mulayyetein…A catastrophe happened…” he replies.
Suddenly the children are gone, vanished in the dusty haze.
“Wait. Where are they?”
He turns to me, “In Sham,… In Halab… In Homs… In Hama…In Raqqa… In Idlib… In Deraa… In Jannah…”
“Jannah? In heaven? How could this be happening here?” I shout at him.
Disoriented, I know I cannot really be here.
I am a ghost but this is not the world of the living.
I close my eyes, try to recall sweetness, warmth, memories, anything else.
But yes, this is Souriya.
“They destroyed everything.” I say with tears falling down my cheek.
He embraces me. I see pain in every line and crease of his face.
“Yes,” my father says “This is how a civilization dies”.
My face is pressed in earth,
In the plot I picked to bury my heart.
But here instead, I buried myself.
I surrendered to wait for the day of Judgement.
I will stay here, I think.
Then suddenly a pair of strong hands raises me up.
They are calloused with time and work.
And then I hear a strong voice, with words sparingly chosen.
I am pulled up from the ground.
“T3aa ya Noor. Follow me”
I cough, the air is thick with dust all around,
But I can see the form of a man in front of me,
His face wrinkled and browned by the sun,
Harsh cheekbones protruding but kind eyes.
He raised me, and so I follow.
I am led through curving alleyways.
Cobblestones are blanketed with dust, the air thick with heat.
I trip many times but over what I cannot tell.
Dead vines cover garden walls like barbed wire.
I can make out the remnants of tenements in rubble,
And ancient columns fallen on the avenue.
The man still walks ahead of me, so I run to catch up.
He stops.
The faint echoes of adhan and church bells pierce the silence.
Somehow the dust begins to clear the streets,
And two figures approach.
Two children, a boy and a girl,
Their clothes are ragged, worn, and dirty.
They hold hands as they hop over heaps of rubble,
And come closer.
But to my surprise, they pass us without notice of our presence.
I turn to call out but then my voice chokes.
The girl turns over a body strewn across the street, checks the pockets.
The boy picks up a nearby AK47, checks the bullets.
“What happened here?” I ask, holding back tears.
“Ya Ein Mulayyetein…A catastrophe happened…” he replies.
Suddenly the children are gone, vanished in the dusty haze.
“Wait. Where are they?”
He turns to me, “In Sham,… In Halab… In Homs… In Hama…In Raqqa… In Idlib… In Deraa… In Jannah…”
“Jannah? In heaven? How could this be happening here?” I shout at him.
Disoriented, I know I cannot really be here.
I am a ghost but this is not the world of the living.
I close my eyes, try to recall sweetness, warmth, memories, anything else.
But yes, this is Souriya.
“They destroyed everything.” I say with tears falling down my cheek.
He embraces me. I see pain in every line and crease of his face.
“Yes,” my father says “This is how a civilization dies”.