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.