Then Where
Zouhour Alkhaled
Sometimes I feel so much like screaming
By rebellion
With the anger I’ve had in my chest for so many days
I want to escape this trap I fell into
Escape,
fragments of my soul that have been exhausted
by compromises
in the darkness of
let-down
Among the rubble of my grief I am fatigued
Some feelings shouldn’t be talked about
And tears must be wiped before falling
A country in which every wish was crushed
Memories
to be forgotten
There’s a parting that’s better than not saying goodbye
Goodbye without crying
or maybe a cold silent cry
and worn-out relationships that can’t be restored
There are places you shouldn’t visit,
and streets
that we are not allowed to approach
Songs
we are not going to hear again
There are wars from which
you emerge victorious,
but you don’t know
what you’ve lost
Irreducible wounds,
and internal fractures that are not forced or cured
stay in the heart
There’s a more beautiful absence than survival
And the existence distorts things
You know, my country, what a let-down is...
Is to run as a little boy to your mother to embrace you...
She slaps you to stop crying
There are things that don’t die
Our souls will keep her alive
You’ll tell us what we couldn’t say
When we were forced to remain silent
Days and days come and the homeland turns into an exile
Winter comes with its drops
All kinds of pain, longing, loss
Look out your window
In every raindrop you find a picture of the people you loved and who became a memory There are no boundaries
No passport is able to reunite them
About a childhood that’s complete or not yet complete
A passing love or a documented relationship with the seal of loyalty
About a traitor friend, a lying lover, and an honest stranger
And a country where dreams died
About the roof of a house that was collecting all your moments
About a homeless orphan cat we took care of in a distant winter
And a cigarette that time has stolen stealthily to inhabit the barren lungs of our fathers
Everything’s going to talk about us
Even about our death and what remained stuck and has not been said yet
They don’t know how much we’ve endured and hurt
They think our escape is easy
They don’t know how many times we hit the arrows
Every time we try to sleep, the monsters of fear and memories attack us
We were captured by grief and panic
They don’t know we’re not willing
They don’t know how persistent we have been
And we tried to survive
All those things that always made us cry
Our dreams were stolen
They don’t know how much our hearts hurt
These feelings and words suffocate us
And the sadness that hangs in us
But we’re pretending to hold out with all our strength
Because we want to
Because we are forced
Because if we let go our pieces no longer set together, will fall apart.
So we bandage our wounds and continue our day hidden behind a smile
So that they don’t glimpse the glitter of our eyes and the trembling of our voices
And our lack of energy
By rebellion
With the anger I’ve had in my chest for so many days
I want to escape this trap I fell into
Escape,
fragments of my soul that have been exhausted
by compromises
in the darkness of
let-down
Among the rubble of my grief I am fatigued
Some feelings shouldn’t be talked about
And tears must be wiped before falling
A country in which every wish was crushed
Memories
to be forgotten
There’s a parting that’s better than not saying goodbye
Goodbye without crying
or maybe a cold silent cry
and worn-out relationships that can’t be restored
There are places you shouldn’t visit,
and streets
that we are not allowed to approach
Songs
we are not going to hear again
There are wars from which
you emerge victorious,
but you don’t know
what you’ve lost
Irreducible wounds,
and internal fractures that are not forced or cured
stay in the heart
There’s a more beautiful absence than survival
And the existence distorts things
You know, my country, what a let-down is...
Is to run as a little boy to your mother to embrace you...
She slaps you to stop crying
There are things that don’t die
Our souls will keep her alive
You’ll tell us what we couldn’t say
When we were forced to remain silent
Days and days come and the homeland turns into an exile
Winter comes with its drops
All kinds of pain, longing, loss
Look out your window
In every raindrop you find a picture of the people you loved and who became a memory There are no boundaries
No passport is able to reunite them
About a childhood that’s complete or not yet complete
A passing love or a documented relationship with the seal of loyalty
About a traitor friend, a lying lover, and an honest stranger
And a country where dreams died
About the roof of a house that was collecting all your moments
About a homeless orphan cat we took care of in a distant winter
And a cigarette that time has stolen stealthily to inhabit the barren lungs of our fathers
Everything’s going to talk about us
Even about our death and what remained stuck and has not been said yet
They don’t know how much we’ve endured and hurt
They think our escape is easy
They don’t know how many times we hit the arrows
Every time we try to sleep, the monsters of fear and memories attack us
We were captured by grief and panic
They don’t know we’re not willing
They don’t know how persistent we have been
And we tried to survive
All those things that always made us cry
Our dreams were stolen
They don’t know how much our hearts hurt
These feelings and words suffocate us
And the sadness that hangs in us
But we’re pretending to hold out with all our strength
Because we want to
Because we are forced
Because if we let go our pieces no longer set together, will fall apart.
So we bandage our wounds and continue our day hidden behind a smile
So that they don’t glimpse the glitter of our eyes and the trembling of our voices
And our lack of energy
Zouhour Alkhaled is a Syrian National who arrived in Aberdeenshire, Scotland, in Spring 2020. She loves writing because it expresses feelings that the tongue cannot say. When humans cannot change the reality, the pen can. It passes with its lines many eyes, opinions, and ears, it enlightens all that is dark. Zouhour believes that the pen is the only flame capable of lighting light for generations to come. It relieves the soul of feelings and expresses the content of the mind and what it is about.
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