The Syrian Child I've never met, yet.

"Dear people of the world,

Are we the only ones who feel this cold?

Where were you, when on the shoulders of my father,

We screamed and marched for freedom at Daraa?

Where were you, when the people of Homs,

Were silenced in their homes?

Where were you, when my father,

Fell, fighting for the land of his fathers?

Where were you, when I was at Houla,

Hiding under the body of my brother,

As I watched armed men slit throats?

Where were you?

They say its the government,

But my teacher taught me that they are chosen to protect.

The government says it the enemy,

But my father fought with the enemy.

And mama told me he was a great man.

At this point,

I don't care who is right, or wrong.

I just don't want to see my friends burnt to bones,

I just want to be able to play with them on the streets of Homs.

I don't want to hide in burnt homes,

I just...want to go home.

I just want to run errands for mama.

And I must ask, where is my mama?

I last saw her at Hama,

She had a big wound across her neck.

They say it would be very bright the next time I see her neck.

They say I would meet her at a better place.

But where is the better place?

Why didn't she take me with her to the better place?

I need new clothes, these are stained with blood,

I need shoes, my feet are always covered in mud.

And here I am, with lots of children holding hands with their mothers.

We are going towards the border.

They say there's a better place there.

I know my mother is for waiting to me."

This is the message from the Syrian child screaming in my head.

I've never seen him, yet.

I hope I see him, before he gets to the better place.

THE REALITY

It must have taken a neighbour or a loved one,

It leaves sons with no fathers and fathers with no sons,

With so much stealth it can't be seen even under the sun.

Sometimes you feel its going to creep up from your behind,

And your life would be ripped from your inside.

Now let this reality diffuse through your cranium and into your brain,

You will expire, and yes, in pain.

And you are leaving with nothing of your gains,

And nothing would stop it even if your tears become rain,

You pray not to expire before your time,

But let me ask you this, one time.

Do you know if you will live to read the next line?

Or do you know if you even know your time?

Ask yourself about the child who died before he was nine,

Ask yourself about the foetus who died before he could even have a spine,

Ask yourself, about that person who expired without a goodbye.

You see, the earlier you accept this certain reality,

The better it is for your thinking faculty,

So now, you so badly want to know your time,

Relax, take a deep breath and I will tell you your time...

That time you take your last breath,

That is your time.

Prepare for your time,

It could come in no time.

TERROR ALERT!

May Day! May Day!!

There is a terror alert in my homeland!

The dead, uncountable,

The injured, still counting.

Its not just militant men bombing people, up north,

Or drilling holes and snatching people down south.

Its the greedy men who killed their democracy,

Quick to send it to the cemetery,

And re-branded their hypocrisy, democracy.

They've cornered our resources,

And turned deaf ears to our voices.

They come with sweet words and bare feet,

And leave us with our words of regret and bare feet.

There is a terror alert in my homeland,

And its not just ruthless business men raiding homes in bands.

Its a storm which has struck in every home,

Because we embraced it and made it a norm.

The Nigerian dream is just about our share of the National cake,

Not caring what it takes.

We've made it a do or die,

Or better still, just do, or do, or do!

And know that a rusty metal doesn't crumble in a day,

It is a gradual process of decay,

And at this pace, it can only get worse,

Because it feels while like we've been cursed.

Because why you look to the skies for help,

Your feet crushes the one who seeks your help.

My book told me these words;

"Allah will not change the condition of a people

Until they change the condition of what's within themselves."

My sister told me these words;

"You speak of change, yet ignore self-reform.

That is a concise definition of 'delusion'."

The end to this terror is from deep down,

And as near as it is, it seems so far.

And for those who landed to their deaths in Lagos,

They say it was an engine failure,

I say it was an act of terror.

Modus operandi? Corruption.

New York 9.11.01 is the equation,

Only this time, we know the culprits for sure.

This "war on terror" is our only cure,

That ARM of war, you must procure.

My prayer is simple; that they meet their Maker, as they lived their life.