Monday, 4 March 2013

A ten-year old Syrian Child

Dust clouds swirl
on pools of sticky blood.
Bullets fly inches above her head.

Muffled, strangled cries.
Maggots on decomposed bodies,
severed heads and limbs.

Her fingers rake
through bloodied bodies,
her gaze darts frantically around.

Her father’s boots-
Papa’s dying breath,
did he recite the Shahadah?

Sounds of shelling, shooting-
funnel in her ears,
replay in her head.

She doesn’t have time
to moan or whine
about her fate.

She has little choice.

©Amy Barry, 2013

Syria: no child safe from the bloody conflict

Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. She has worked in the media industry as a Public Relations officer. Her poems have been published in anthologies, journals, and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris, Berlin, have all inspired her work.

4 comments:

  1. Such a sad, yet strong piece. And there are so many of those little girls and boys now. A different world for them. Love this, Amy.

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  2. Hi Susan!

    Its a very sad for these children. Indeed, a different world for them, no idling in cinemas, shoppings or Wii...


    Thank you for the read, Susan.

    Cheers,

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  3. How awful that a ten year old should be saying she recognised her father 'by his boots'. That is such a powerful line and you have highlighted her plight with this strong poem.

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  4. Hi Little Nell,

    She did. Imagined how terrible for a girl that age.

    Thank you for the visit, Little Neil.

    Cheers!

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