There was an echo, the sound of a silence that speaks louder than sirens.

The warning, an alarming noise of truth, telling the horror that dwells deep in the darkness of one’s own soul.

The bullets thud, thud; just as that deep abyss within thumps, thumps. The chorus of the heart.

The bullets blitz the silence with a symphony of suffering. Guns like crickets on a summers night.

There follows another impact, less impressionable.

The eyes that spark with an emotion that has no sensory cue. No verbal recognition, no aural repetition, no taste or touch, no aroma to wrap around expression.

The eyes are a dimension of their own.

In the eye of the storm, a pause of pain escapes in the echo… that silent sound.

In Syria, this sound is found.

A war of weapons like insects in the heat. A humid night on the farm turned into a fiery battle of nations, releasing their own loose calls into the night.

Hear the crickets chime? Humming an anthem of home?

The nation’s gun not a victory won. The nation’s gun a chorus. A chime. A crime.

As…

humanity dies,
hope dies,
that echo –
lost in the night.

Do you hear as…

The children chime,
soldiers, guns, they fight.

Do you hear as…

The suicide bombers come,
exploding, exposing.

…
raw skin
deep sin
…

There are some silences that speak louder than sirens.

There are some silences

that echo –

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CONTEXT

Note: unedited stream of consciousness from writing laboratory class.
Instruction: to write anything that comes to mind on the topic of Syria.
Reflection: this piece it not intended as a political product, instead, it gives an insight into how an outsider may only fathom fragments of another’s reality.