my first Poem

The war in Syria held heavy nights, at some we couldn't taste sleep because of the fights, terror, and fire.
That night was a dark one, and by dark i mean both the darkness that fell over our hearts and the power outage that swept over the city.
English is my second language, but I've always loved it, read tons of books, breathed it, till I reached a point where I'd actually think in it, dream in it.
All we could hear that night was the bombing sounds coming from a far, the gun fights emerging now and then disturbing the few silent moments between every explosion, and the sound of our neighbors baby crying terrified. All we could think of was that it was out last night on this Earth, that finally we were going to abandon the war Syria was going through and meet our creator peacefully, and as i sat in my empty room gazing at the last burning candle in my room the flame somewhat struck my mind, and my hand picked up a pen involuntary and started writing the first poem in the English language I've ever written:
Every breath of life counts,
every struggle to survive in those days.
I thought about the pain the children felt as ''Ahmad'' our neighbors baby kept on crying

Darkness surrounded the world with clouds
enormous, vicious clouds of shade.

''Succumb to misery my little children,
my poor wretched suffering slaves'',

hissed the darkness through out space,
and death came swiftly hovering
over this eternal night of hate...

Wind came in from outside (we kept our windows open even in winter to avoid the compact the bombs made as they exploded, thus avoid having our windows glass shattered), it blew causing the flame of the dying candle to flicker changing the shadows it made against the wall. Gazing at this insignificant scene my hand moved again:

A single candle burns with light,
trying hard not to fade.
Facing it..... sat I
gazing at the lonely flame.
watching it grow bigger in mind,
rise higher to the sky in a race

Sighing I thought about freedom, freedom of thought and of mind thwn took a deep breath:

For this very thought my heart aches
knowing that it's only an image in my brain
certain that this terror will never come to end.

A deafening sound made me creep under my bed, my parents shouted that it was ok, and rushed to my younger sisters room. In that state I thought about death, how relieving it would be, how peaceful, how much I'd be glad to get rid of war in any way possible. Slowly reaching my hand up i took both the pen and the paper and started writing when interrupted by my father opening the door.

After assuring him that I was fine he asked me to join everyone in the living room, i nodded ''just two more minutes'' i pleaded as he gently closed the door:

So I lie with eyes wide open,
waiting for them to close my grave.
Listening to the sweet melancholy
that in my heart consistently plays.
Willingly giving in to the everlasting sleep
that with kisses shall fill my cheeks
 and forever shall my soul embrace.

Dropping the pen down i rested my head on my arms and closed my eyes, moments later the electricity came back just as my candle finally die. Quickly getting out from under the bed I ran to my computer to check out what was on face book, and just when my happiness was at it's highest the power went off again after only half an hour forcing us all to go to sleep.

The next day i woke up half falling down, the two armies were fighting, and i cursed both of them for waking me up so early. Glancing down i saw part of my paper, picked it up and read, i read it twice then tossed myself back on the bed happy that i had written a poem! an amateur but still a poem!.... My first poem.
It wasn't what i expected for a first, I always thought kids wrote about butterflies, teens about super natural stuff, but still i was proud, somehow satisfied with what I had, i ran to my parents room and read it, they helped me with the name ''Aurora.. the last hope''
That was two years ago, I was a sixteen years old girl turning into a writer, that's when i started living to write.
Sal.Majak.
 
 

Aurora...the lost hope
 
Every breath of life counts,
every struggle to survive in those days.
 
Darkness surrounded the world with clouds
enormous, vicious clouds of shade.

''Succumb to misery my little children,
my poor wretched suffering slaves'',

hissed the darkness throughout space,
and death came swiftly hovering
over this eternal night of hate...
 
A single candle burns with light,

trying hard not to fade.
Facing it..... sat I
gazing at the lonely flame.
watching it grow bigger in mind,
rise higher to the sky in a race
 
For this very thought my heart aches
knowing that it's only an image in my brain
certain that this terror will never come to end.
 
So I lie with eyes wide open,
waiting for them to close my grave.
Listening to the sweet melancholy
that in my heart consistently plays.
Willingly giving in to the everlasting sleep
that with kisses shall fill my cheeks
 and forever shall my soul embrace.

 

I am participating in the ‘Writing Contest: You Are A Writer’ held by Positive Writer. - See more at: http://positivewriter.com/writing-contest-you-are-a-writer/#comment-996200399

I am participating in the ‘Writing Contest: You Are A Writer’ held by Positive Writer. - See more at: http://positivewriter.com/writing-contest-you-are-a-writer/#comment-996200399

Author's Note

this is how i started, a disturbing story i guess, but this is how i started :)

Reviews

[barleygirl]

WOW! WOW! And WOW! I'm stunned by this amazing, brilliant, honest, powerful story! I haven't been this touched by something I've read or seen, since we (here in USA) saw TV images of chemical attacks in Syria, watching convulsing children up close. I am ashamed of how our country has interacted with your country. I can't believe there is so much beauty (your message & your attitude) within the stark images of violence & hopelessness (the main views we get of your country). Your story is so mind-blowing, it's hard to remember to comment on your well-chosen format, showing us the writing process interrupted by war & savagery, then the final poem is too beautiful to imagine it being written under these circumstances. Your depiction of writing a poem here should put to shame anyone who complains about not being able to write for some reason or another!!!! I can't say in a satisfactory way, how you've given all of us smug, entitled people of the world a kick in the butt & also a gift, to stop whining & appreciate & work with whatever we have in our own worlds!!! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Salar Majak]

wow! thank you very much for that review it actually made my day!!!
and i don't think anyone is smug to tell you the truth, everyone is going through their problems and struggling through life in their own way. Thanks alot!!!
(hugs) and i'm looking forward to reading some of your stuff!

[An owl on the moon]

So powerful and moving, my dear friend. Aching in the reading, began to cry, having known you now these years, and feeling all those thoughts flooding your mind and heart. Somehow I wish I could have traded places with you, but realizing that these moments are woven into you, that you wear every moment of your life in the extravagance of your soul. Now sitting here, sighing, hoping with all my heart that you will write the book of you. That is one I would cherish always.

[Salar Majak]

thanks old friend, maybe one day i shall write that book after all XD thank you for your kind words

[An owl on the moon]

That is one I would travel anywhere for the first book signing. So yes, please.

[satish sharma]

salar it so nice ,i read it well and how smoothly whole night ,every moment you explain it is very nice

[Moving Mass]

No one knows what it's like to go through things like that. They're things that can change the way you see life in it's entirety. Sometimes it makes you feel grateful, or in other cases, spiteful. I'm glad you chose the former, and I want to say thank you for writing this. Beginnings always have a special place in my heart.

[RichGee]

You have brought tears to my eyes....no one deserves to experience such fear, pain or tragedy...
No one should live such anguish....You are strong far beyond your years...keep writing...
Keep spreading your truth...The entire world nears to hear you....

[Salar Majak]

thank yo for your words :)

[RichGee]

My pleasure...by the way Frieda is back!

[kumars]

hi i liked your this.......

[MOON]

Poignant even amidst great tradgedy pain and uncertainity comes a gift, the gift of writing.

[Salar Majak]

thanks i'm glad you like it

[pasdepoisson]

It is a hard read, and I mean that in a good way. Explaining the lines turns the work in an accessible, lucid vignette of the numbing banality and senseless droning of war, at any moment possibly punctuated by the encounter of violent death. As metaphor goes, the line about giving in to death, "the everlasting sleep/
that with kisses shall fill my cheeks" reads as the fanciful imagining of a young woman, but also bears the horrible weight of "waiting for them to close my grave"... the kisses filling the girl's cheeks evoke nothing so much as spadefuls of soil cast upon her face in the closing grave. I am glad that this grim imagining never came to fruition for you, and sobered that is has for so many others in the war.

Powerful writing, and with special relevance in our time.

[Salar Majak]

thank you very much for your words and i'm glad you like this one.

[Baby Ricochet]

Aurora this is incredible. I am deeply moved.

[Salar Majak]

thanks, i'm glad you like it :)

[Siren]

A beautiful story, a treasure born in darkness to see the brightness of day. "We were moving mountains long before we knew we could...Though hope is frail, it's hard to kill." May you never cease to find words~ *hugs tight*

[Salar Majak]

thanks Siren! i really appreciate it!
*hugs*

[Siren]

You're welcome, you're always welcome. You're a dear friend of mine, and you are never journeying alone.