Homs, Time for Love, Time for War


A freezing dark night

No oil, nor electricity

Outrageous bombing out there

The hateful/ sacred clashes

Killing our men, our sons

Breathing bad air

Filled with gunpowder and moist decay

Fadi, the disabled

Respectfully, a person with special needs,

Curls up and trembles

I cover him with what I have

And burst into tears

Crying over this poor country I live in

And the innocent souls, killed for a pittance

Of those I miss

Over a woman who left me after living inside of me

Over children scattered in the waste land

And the bizarre war I am living

I am the disabled,

A person with general needs



Poet Abdulkarim Omreen – Homs

From his book, Homs, Time for Love, Time for War

Homsi Rocks

Oblivion is not enough,

to erasethe in craved images on my shoulder of my blazed city

Faith is not enough,

for me, to ask remission from the emperors of silence and augurs of the world



My heartis rustled by your Flint stones,

A Homsi pounded blood, overpassed on screens,

decaying, infested by worms,roaming the hallways ofurban graveyards

My heart, is a clothesline for corps,

flipped over as a gory shroud,

is the Syrian mulberries, mashed by bulldozers


Oh, Homs,

The tree in the face of the whirlwind,

with bare hands, standing thatthirsty saw,

his teeth of fire,

his claws of fire

Nothing Would’ve overthrown you, had not they beenyourdissolute sons


Oh, Homs,

It is not enough to throw my heart away at your door,

It is not enough to absorb from your feet, the essence of my years

nor to fold my soul at your grave,

like a book, engraved by your ruins

Oh, Homs,

Neither is enough to be a scream of dawn

from a dying minaret, or from the heart of a broken Cross

Nor to wish I was a stone from your rugged land

Oh, I wish


Oh, Homs,

It is not enough to damn my self

while writing poems of you,

not enough to fall in my exile like the mosque of Khalid

nor to shatter like the church of Um Al-Zinnar

in the last land of memories.

To build my own grave in this falling universe

is again not enough.



Muhammad Aladdin Abdulmawlah

From the book: “The Syrian graveyardsare but one

By Difafpublishing house - Amman




It is Life

In Homs,

Monsters clench their fists over the dust

Since the land is for its people, and the sky


In Homs,

You can’t be alone

God walks beside you

Pointing to people and the houses by

Whispering in your ears;

‘Vision is in the heart, my son’

And you realize that wherever you turn,

There is the face of God


In Homs,

Night passes quietly by the houses

Kindly, roams over the ordinary people

Taking them to morning

Ashamed of its dark


In Homs,

When a call to prayer is missing

Between two minarets,

The holy belt of Um Al-Zinnarholds them together

Full of passion, like a mother

Without being asked


In Homs,

Smiles welcome you in every street

Laughs protect you

So you are relieved

That wherever you came from,

You belong here


Hassan AL-Saleh - Homs




Hey …

Gently, with your fingertips gather

Thosefragments of dead bodies, scattered

Be careful,

This is a body mixed with kisses and yearning

Do it smoothly,

A while ago, he was singing

Don’t throw him in breaking news

This is a being, an antiquity

Not a static, or nonentity

A bombed grudge casualty 

His harsh miseryis not fit for a media-shot

That scattered body,

is home,

A bursting home



Suad Jarrous

From her book, That’s how I loved him - 2010