A CRY OF A SYRIAN CHILD

Ayub Khawar's poems of resistance in English

Poem 1. Yes; Black I Am

Yes; black I am

And I am proud of, on being black

,Though I am black

 Yet my colour holds all colours of life,

All colours of

Spring and autumn, winter and summer,

The sandy plains, oasis

And lush green meadows, shine like dreams, Burn like illusions, in me,

I am the colour of Martin Luther, 

Nelson Mandala and Barack Obama

,I am the colour of the strife for independence

And the sovereign colour too,

I am the colour

 Of Michal Jackson and Bob Moore,

My colour holds the sparkles of sound,

A craving for music, soul and passion,

That make the world my devotee;

I am the colour of Muhamad Ali 

Whose blows deform

 Each face of the other colour,

I am the colour of Morgan Freeman,

 William Smith and Bill Cosby who marvel

 On the screen, the viewers of films,

This is the colour of Bilal and Nijashi, 

The colour of faith and loyalty, 

All colours are confined in me,

It is the king of all colours,

It is the colour of God Himself.

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Written by Ayub Khawar

Translated by Muhammad Shanazar

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Poem 2: A CRY OF A SYRIAN CHILD

O! America 

Stop this brutal and inhuman action against humanity

Don’t destroy the innocence of my childhood,

 Don’t ravage my sleep, filled with dream of peace

 O! the barbarians stop this chemical war

 Stop to destroy my motherland

 Look at me,

 The biscuits of my share 

Have been shattered into shards

 By the bomb blasts,

 Hunger bursts like explosives,

 Between my chest and stomach

 The pieces of lamentation have stuck

 Into my throat,

They are neither swallowed nor gorged

 Look for a while to this side…here,

There cling to bare soles of my feet

Exhaustion of intense explosives

Being rained for years, 

On the wilderness of my motherland, 

And the iron-kites are constantly

 Flying over my head,

 And I am empty bellied.

O! America 

In my lap I have sterile earth of my land

And the pieces of exploded missiles.

What will you give me,

 Against this drabbed earth and rubble of missiles and chemicals?

No…..Nothing….

 But my innocence, beats of hearts, smiles, dreams,

Books, copies, pencils, classroom, Desks, chair, playgrounds,

Wings of butterflies, my fellows,

 families colours of flowers,And the entire “peace”

 Which is still breathing under the ruins of my motherland..

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