That we might live.
Dumuzi, on the blood river’s brink
Takes the plunge.
Israa Yunis, seven years old, takes the plunge
And the little boys of Dara’a whose skulls they smashed
The brave men of Jableh, the warm women of Bayda
The intellectuals, the street kids, the people of truth
Walk into the waves.
Constriction seals you
Lungs, valves and borders close
Death awaits you in the hospitals
Funerals are held when night falls
Blood runs down the coastal road
And fills the alleys to their dusty roofs.
But do not drown, children of spring –
Rise, that we might live.