If you see a child 
Running a kite
There in the sand, by the spume, 
The waves dancing to the sun, 
The silt and gravel enjoying the salty water kiss, 
Then run to shield him form the skies, 
The skies these days are raining fire, 
Fire, fire, fire, everywhere, 
But no flame of love to spare, 
No breath of life to preserve, 
No bone to leave unbroken,  
No bruise unfettered, 
No tear unshed…

If you see a child making toys of the rubble, 
Dolls out of destroyed cupboards, 
Where frail memories are kept, 
Where grandma’s ebony jewels are treasured, 
Imagined cars out of broken bricks, 
Of blown houses, 
If you see her humming merry-go-round songs, 
Then make sure you shut her up, 
So as to hear the hissing from the sky, 
Of the fire that illuminates our misery, 
Deadly fireworks to our life of rubble..

If you see a child smiling from under a fallen roof 
Tell her the story of the life of fallen dreams, 
Fallen stories, under falling bombs, 
Of how we measured our life with rubble, bombs and the smell of death, 
Everywhere, but here and there, 
Unaware of the wear of years
And always heeding the sword that is about to fall, 
On our rarely acquiescing necks. 

The smile on the rubble child face, Sitting on what was a house, 
A trace of a home, 
The stench of bombs beating the smell of the hearth, 
A dream rendered a rubble, 
But a dream that never dies, 
Lives die but the dream goes on, 
A phoenix shaking the shackles of ash, 
And rising like a summer moon on an eastern sea, 
Orange, the color of hope, 
The smile of a beautiful night, 
When a child is sleeping,
Dreaming of her mother’s lap, 
The warmth of love, 
Of life…

Rédigé par Lahcen Haddad