A Poem About War & Resilience
My Name Is Dunya
[Clears Throat.]
Shall I start?
Sorry, I am a little anxious.
[Clears Throat.]
Hello,
MynameisD unya .
And in my language,
It means 'life'.
Appreciating the Irony,
I come from a place where there is no 'life'. War has eaten my home
And settled itself
in the scars of my heart.
Walking through the rubble, I travelled through space; Sank in a time bubble, Studying every trace
Left by those
who were once alive,
In this lifeless place.
There, I found my doll.
It was still bleeding.
My mom made it for me,
When she was still alive and breathing, When I used to feed my toy
The way my mom feeds me.
Streets were colourful then. Sigh!
O Home, my Home
I can't endure the struggle.
O Mother, my Mother
You were a cold body covered under the rubble. O Love, my Love
War stole life from me.
O Brother, my Brother
Where are you now?
Did you manage to flee?
Shall I continue?
Sorry, I am melancholic.
But my heart is wrenched It used to have wings, And it could fly.
Now, it is full of agony. War is wicked.
And I can’t defy.
I walk down the road
Meditating with every step,
Looking at the wreckage
AsifIamonatrip:
Full chaos and contradictions
Full of hopes and despairs.
I am hopeful. I hopeless.
Am I sinful? Am I sinless?
Am I selfish? Am I selfless?
I strive, I strike, I weep, I toughen, I fall, I rise, I shout, I tranquilize, I walk, I run, I gloom, I shine, I seek any shrine,
Walking through the rubble,
Walking through the rubble,
Stumbling in the rubble,
I fall. And I wonder,
Will I ever rise?
The rhythm of a poem
Starts playing in my head.
It reads, I recall,
"Of a happy world, dream not. Every tyrant dies,
Giving birth to a new despot, And every martyr slain, Leaves behind futile sorrows, And tears in vain."
Then, I think to myself,
this is why hell exists.
My last words to you
And the generations to be born, We were once here;
Watering sacred flowers,
That grow without a thorn. Save the life left in me!
I beg. My soul is torn.
Save all the wasted dreams, Asking to be reborn.
[Clears Throat.]
Shall I start?
Sorry, I am a little anxious.
[Clears Throat.]
Hello,
MynameisD unya .
And in my language,
It means 'life'.
Appreciating the Irony,
I come from a place where there is no 'life'. War has eaten my home
And settled itself
in the scars of my heart.
Walking through the rubble, I travelled through space; Sank in a time bubble, Studying every trace
Left by those
who were once alive,
In this lifeless place.
There, I found my doll.
It was still bleeding.
My mom made it for me,
When she was still alive and breathing, When I used to feed my toy
The way my mom feeds me.
Streets were colourful then. Sigh!
O Home, my Home
I can't endure the struggle.
O Mother, my Mother
You were a cold body covered under the rubble. O Love, my Love
War stole life from me.
O Brother, my Brother
Where are you now?
Did you manage to flee?
Shall I continue?
Sorry, I am melancholic.
But my heart is wrenched It used to have wings, And it could fly.
Now, it is full of agony. War is wicked.
And I can’t defy.
I walk down the road
Meditating with every step,
Looking at the wreckage
AsifIamonatrip:
Full chaos and contradictions
Full of hopes and despairs.
I am hopeful. I hopeless.
Am I sinful? Am I sinless?
Am I selfish? Am I selfless?
I strive, I strike, I weep, I toughen, I fall, I rise, I shout, I tranquilize, I walk, I run, I gloom, I shine, I seek any shrine,
Walking through the rubble,
Walking through the rubble,
Stumbling in the rubble,
I fall. And I wonder,
Will I ever rise?
The rhythm of a poem
Starts playing in my head.
It reads, I recall,
"Of a happy world, dream not. Every tyrant dies,
Giving birth to a new despot, And every martyr slain, Leaves behind futile sorrows, And tears in vain."
Then, I think to myself,
this is why hell exists.
My last words to you
And the generations to be born, We were once here;
Watering sacred flowers,
That grow without a thorn. Save the life left in me!
I beg. My soul is torn.
Save all the wasted dreams, Asking to be reborn.
This poem was authored and submitted by Asmaa AbdelLatif. You can follow her on Instagram here. A note from the author:
About my piece, I grew up in a house that had a wide eye open at the international humanitarian crises. At first, I was almost 4 years old when I heard everyone talking about the atrocities committed against the Bosniaks. These talks were followed by cries of woe over the situation in Palestine and later on, I have seen the 9/11 events on TV. Thus, a big question mark penetrated my mind. I needed to understand why there was so much violence in the world. Why do I take this grief every day with me to bed? It gave birth to an everlasting sense of discomfort in my heart that manifested itself later in my interests and approach to arts.
"I performed the first poem ever at my school theatre about a little child who was born in a war-zone. I have absorbed the character and it has become my message. I've since dedicated my poetry to tackle humanitarian themes about love, war, resilience, and hope. I want to talk about what we don't see on TV; I want people to see the human in every victim. And I remember the moment I was inspired to write this poem; the words and situation of my persona struck me that it felt as if a tormented soul found a way to express herself through my voice, and it just flowed.
About my piece, I grew up in a house that had a wide eye open at the international humanitarian crises. At first, I was almost 4 years old when I heard everyone talking about the atrocities committed against the Bosniaks. These talks were followed by cries of woe over the situation in Palestine and later on, I have seen the 9/11 events on TV. Thus, a big question mark penetrated my mind. I needed to understand why there was so much violence in the world. Why do I take this grief every day with me to bed? It gave birth to an everlasting sense of discomfort in my heart that manifested itself later in my interests and approach to arts.
"I performed the first poem ever at my school theatre about a little child who was born in a war-zone. I have absorbed the character and it has become my message. I've since dedicated my poetry to tackle humanitarian themes about love, war, resilience, and hope. I want to talk about what we don't see on TV; I want people to see the human in every victim. And I remember the moment I was inspired to write this poem; the words and situation of my persona struck me that it felt as if a tormented soul found a way to express herself through my voice, and it just flowed.
