My name is Homs
And as you sit down to analyse,
Point fingers: “oh its complicated!”
As we sit down to argue
Over power, ideology, greed
I am being
Pounded
Shaken
Slaughtered
(Homs has been under severe and constant attack since the beginning of the Syrian revolution with 15 of its district under a siege since 13 months. Today, reports cite that thousands of shells have been launched on the city, since the morning, in a heavy serious attack).
29/06/2013
This one is not mine.
The beautiful words of a friend of mine (who prefers to remain anonymous). So beautiful- I had to share.
“Listening to Yann Tiersen’s amazing soundtrack to Amelie. (A movie I am yet to see.)
And I just realised how utterly absurd it is to ever think one can’t change the world.
If my eye went blind it would change the whole experience of my life.
If my feet were no longer usable everything would be different.
Perhaps in the world ‘China’ is a foot and ‘America’ an eye.
The world is very big, there are so many people.
Perhaps in the world I am only as small as an eyelash. Perhaps.
But isn’t it bothersome when an eyelash gets in your eye? Doesn’t it stay on your mind? Don’t you think of ways to get rid of it? Roll your eyeball around or get someone to have a look. Doesn’t it change your behaviour? Continue reading
Working on collating human rights violations within Syria is not easy. The daily videos which arrive at the inbox and the feelings they induce are difficult to describe. Sometimes you learn to become immune to them or you ignore them, and at other times, you push yourself to watch them… and it is just horrific.
One day as I sat at my desk, someone in the office clicked on a video that had arrived. And although I did not see anything, I heard something else very clearly. It was the sound of a human… yet it was almost inhumane. It was worse than howling; beyond imagination or perception. It shook me to my core. And it made me write the below.
I don’t know whether this is poetry or prose. It just came tumbling out. But read it aloud with expression if you really want to feel it. Continue reading
My mother’s voice on the phone changed. I knew someone had passed away. She called me to tell me who it was, and the shock hit me with such force… I still cannot believe it.
Murad was younger than me. Continue reading
Homebound- is where my ship is heading. To the source, to the one, to the home. To God. To be homebound is to be free, to have lofty aspirations, to be visionary, and to do all things good. This is what my writing centres around and aims to keep in line with. I invite you all on board.
Amal Saffour
Homebound 