Colors of the Sufferer's Rainbow

[RiverNotch]

I'd consider it political, inasmuch as it moves one to actually participate politics -- just like angry rhetoric that doesn't move me in the slightest isn't political, just plain stupid. It doesn't read like you are there for me -- rather, it reads like you've been there, or you know there, and are now speaking as you watch the news, compare and contrast. Reads as if you're familiar with the language, too, and I'm not talking about the Syrian Desert -- the constructions and such feel somewhat like the stuff of Rumi I've read once. Then again,  I'm not that well read, so that may just be me.
Green is for the fields that line
The rich banks of Mother Euphrates. I do think that enhancing archaicness by capitalizing each starter is unnecessary.
White is for the sand that kisses
Badiyat al-Sham and the White Middle Sea. Redundant white is redundant -- or at least feels that way. I can't help but feel like you should maybe go with something else, for the mediterranean.
Black is for the smoke that rises
From each bomb’s billowy blossom.
Red is for the slickness that covers
a boy’s face and drenches his graphic t-shirt. When you said "graphic t-shirt", i immediately thought his t-shirt had graphic images on him -- i mean, it don't make sense, but detracting thought is detracting, even if just for a moment. And the scansion, i think, would be enhanced, removing graphic. maybe even: "a boy's face, drenches his shirt."

But grey is his new favorite color. i'm not sure this is the right device to move on -- i don't think we ever really get into the mind of the boy this way, either in the instigating image or the poem. sure, we get to see things through his eyes, but the poem stops there. there's a different moment in the greyness to be caught, i think.

He sees grey in the windowless
Planes buzzing over his flat
Like angry wasps.

He sees grey in the ten-foot mounds
Of concrete and rebar
That turned noisy homes into
Silent graves. something kinda irks me -- it's the bombs that turned the noisy homes into silent graves, not the silent graves composed of ten-foot mounds themselves! but that problem should be easy enough to solve. like the earlier stanza a lot, though.

He sees grey in the dust and ash
Blanketing the streets
Like sorrowful snow. eh, "sorrowful snow" is pushing it too close to sentiment, i think.

He saw grey in his father’s hair,
His mother’s hair, his brother’s hair— it's a little weird, this sudden shift to past tense -- though the picture is of the boy in an ambulance, i think moving this to the present is equally viable, a la wartime flashbacks.
Once black as oil, now dull
And lifeless as their body bags. really, the greyness of their hair is from that same dust as in the earlier stanza, so i think the two stanzas should be fused, something like

He sees grey in the dust and ash
blanketing the streets, blanketing
his father's hair, his mother's hair, his brother's hair,
all once black as oil, now dull
and lifeless as a body bag.

Now the grey clings to his skin,
Punctuated with shades of brown.
He reaches up to wipe some off
His face and his hand
comes back red and grey. somehow, although this stanza is key to the original image, i think it isn't key to the whole poem. he's already seen the planes, his house blown up, he family dead -- him being wounded becomes kinda secondary to that. and perhaps you could easily skip to the next stanza. Say:

and lifeless as a body bag---

he sees, but doesn't cry.
His tears were snatched
away with the green
fields and white
sands of Aleppo.

and yeah, although the line break sounds kinda unnatural, i don't think it's so unnatural as to be detracting -- rather, its unnaturalness for me is part of the point. and the emphasis on the colors and locations is quite rich.
He looks but doesn’t cry.
His tears were snatched
Away with the green
Fields and white
Sands of Aleppo. 

The camera filming him will absorb
Variants of red, green, and blue, but
It will broadcast a rainbow worldwide: there's no but -- variants of red, green, and blue schmutzed together is exactly what a rainbow is. I feel like the thought here -- perhaps on the nature of shades of light coming together to form grey? -- is not translated into words well enough. an off gander:
A camera films him, translates
each dab of grey
into a spectral rainbow:

        Black for the smoke that rises
        From each bomb’s billowy blossom. Maybe semicolon/comma, instead of period?

        Red for the slickness that covers
        Syrian faces and drenches graphic t-shirts. Still don't like graphic, and I think Syrian pushes the politic too much -- Syrian, Ukrainian, Ugandan, what matters is it's a boy's (even a human's) face! so the line:
red for the slickness that covers
boys' faces, drenches shirts.

        Grey for the thin, dusty hope
        That settles on the ground to the tune of gunfire. "to the tune of gunfire" feels either cliche or simply jarring -- I can't really tell. eliminate it -- "settling on the ground." works well enough, but with twice the punch, I think.

But yeah, overall, lovely.