Prisoners-السُّجناء

They die silently under the ground, without a single word being heard

They die slowly feeling every single pain and experiencing all kind of torture

They eat dust and drink their own blood filled in a big glass

They stand, they don’t sit. They stay awake , they don’t sleep.

Today, December 4th, Hussam Alnajjar survived by death.

Yes, survived! Because who wants to live without breathing? without feeling their heart beats?

His skinny, deformed body was thrown in front of his house at 2 am and a note was put on him “Your son was a terrorist because he wanted freedom and we don’t have this definition in our dictionaries. From: Assad regime.”

The streets were dark, no electricity. His mom was praying as usual, for God to protect Hussam and his other brother who fled to Turkey. She opened the door after hearing people’s laments “انا لله وانا اليه راجعون” which means “To God we belong, and to him we return.” Imagine you open the door and find your son’s dead body on the floor. His mom fainted and her neighbors took her to the emergency room, she might die and be buried nest to her son.

Hussam, who taught me how to play basketball, write “سوريا حبي للابد” on the Syrian walls and run away so that the security don’t catch me, is now dead. Numbers, memories and thoughts that squeeze my heart so hard, make my hand shake and froze them. I’m pieces of broken glass are difficult to collect, It is color of blood which is bound to reflect. Two years a go, Hussam said to me “I am determined to be soldier of God to be martyr.” and now you got it, my dead best friend.

Hussam sketched me in Damascus , 2009
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