Başımız sağolsun Türkiye!
Peace be with you, Syria!
–
I woke up in pain,
though I’m not being searched for by a crane,
Nor am I freezing under a bitter rain.
I woke up in a bed that through the night lay still,
I went and ate a breakfast, and had my fill –
But I have never felt more ill.
I can sit and think about a future dream,
I can call my sister and see her infectious beam –
But I can’t help the tears that pour out quicker than a stream.
I can look out to buildings so tall,
I can look to the streets and see the children delightfully playing ball,
Yet now most of all I truly feel small.
No remedy for my woes better than a helping hand –
Many of them, from across the land,
Who come together for a purpose refined and grand.
It matters not the colors on our flag,
Nor the brands on our every bag,
Nor how loudly we can brag.
In the darkness, a light –
A vow to bring aid to respond to the plight –
Volunteers fighting the good fight.
United in our grief,
Firm in our belief –
hastening to be a relief.
On a day like this, there is no “other” –
We stand together, to each other as sister and brother,
All as children of the same mother.
Some bring items to donate,
While others sit and stew in their hate –
You can tell, from between them, who’s truly great.
No matter how loudly the ground may rumble,
Or how much did crumble,
In front of unity, I can’t but be truly humble.
No matter how strongly the ground may quake,
Generosity is the cure I found for my ache –
Helping hands – the cure that no tremor can crack or break.
By Zachary Abbas
