We die so our homeland lives
But lives for whom?
After us, only dirt and rot will remain
We are our homeland
– Iraqi poet
We are our homeland indeed. Amidst despair and the absurdism of death in Syria, there is a spark of hope kindled by those who overwhelmed by their human essence. They gave their bodies as bread for the people and offered their tears to the thirsty. Everyday, I read a single story stands by itself like an orphan little girl among crowds of tales about destruction and war. A story that lives long in my soul and memory. A story that I read tens of times because it shocks me with its spirituality inside this spiritual and moral bankruptcy in the age of the gun and anger.
I started to search for stories made by Syrians seeking some sanity in this inferno of madness. Once I read about a man seemed to the people around him faraway from his surroundings and only cares about the dead. A man that wanders everyday in his city which snatched by the crows of ruins, searching in the streets and wet alleys for the dead bodies to honor them by burial. People used to see him walking beside the rubble and the lurking sniper or a bomb, surrounded by an aura of serenity, looking for those who lost their lives on the road, or for limbs separated and lost from it owners.
Since that time, this man is haunting me, the man who searches for the dead, the one who is floating above his fear and doubt to restore peace to the souls of the dead and ease their disturbance.
This page is called “Tell me about my homeland,” the page is in Arabic, I started to search for the stories of love, mercy, courage and forgiveness in my wounded Syria which is torn apart by grudge and pain, and filled with hatred. I want to learn from my great nation, this page is for me, my expression, my search for some sanity in the inferno of madness.
The page became a forgotten dream. 2014-02