I am from Daraa. I came to Lebanon 3 years ago. The shelling intensified in my city and the deaths multiplied around us. We had come to stay for a short period of time planning to go back afterwards but my father decided at some point that we were going to stay. Back in Daraa, my older brother had taught me how to breed and train pigeons. He instructed me on how to catch the pigeons and whistle to make them come back to our roof. Now my brother is in Sweden. He went to Turkey and then traveled to Sweden. We would gather the pigeons in cages at night and let them fly free during the day. We bred them and fed them in our hands. I miss them… That is what I left behind in Syria. That is what I remember and wish I had been able to bring with me.
I started to learn how to write rap songs here in Beirut, in Sabra and in the Chatila camp. I loved it and I started writing about Syria, and the war. The more I write, the more I miss Syria.
“I was sitting comfortably, nothing was bothering me,
I loved people and people loved me,
I never hated anyone nor anyone hated me,
suddenly my head started aching from the thinking:
I started imaging my head as if it was like any city with murder and destruction,
hate and revenge in my imagination building up…
So I went to take a pill for pain
hoping this ache would fly away,
I felt my whole body relaxing and not wanting to move anymore,
because all the wars in my head were gone.
I felt relieved and all the pain in me disappeared,
Less than seconds later it felt like when the water I drank reached my stomach,
it had turned into gasoline and started to burn some poor people,
how can you burn in the name of religion…”
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