Syria - The Call Of The Azaan - Prayer (Adhan) Poem by Bernedita Rosinha Pinto

The streets were so full of life
with children everywhere, playing, eating
running, praying, rushing to schools;
the marketplaces though small
were so full of people in all the shops
buying fresh bread, fruits, vegetables.
The prayer call- Azaan would stop them all
and everyone would rush to the mosque to pray;
those were the moments that belonged
to the Most Beneficient and the pious.

Today there is only debris everywhere
streets are empty, buildings are damaged,
all that remains is cement, mortar and gloom.
None can hear the cry of the Azaan nearby
there is no Imam as he has succumbed to explosion
of those falling bombs where he lived.

Children and families are all gone away,
deserted is every corner of the street and neighborhood;
there is no one to talk to or ask where is love.
Only there is a God there who is watching silently
but the echo of that cry of Azaan still prevails
and brings memories of past over present
those who hear it ask - will my country
ever wake up again in fraternity by God's grace
or will we live in yearning and scattered in other lands?