Song of the Freedom Fighter


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(In honor of the freedom fighters of Libya)

I have followed the path of freedom
to the shores of virtue and tolerance.
The soles of my feet have been cut
upon the jagged stones of liberty.
My children have been laid to rest
in the fertile fields of Sha’biya,
Their martyred and angelic souls
whisper “Marhaba!” to a new
generation of patriots.
A soft, warm wind caresses this
new and reborn Libya, and amidst the glad
music of my ancestors we dance
to the songs of larks and the twitterings
of sparrows.
I finally realize, I am home.

Our Youngest Patriots


A boy watches men dig graves for future casualties of Syria's civil conflict, at Sheikh Saeed cemetery in Azaz city

The price of freedom comes not cheap;

it’s why the village women weep.

Sweet daughters and our native sons

lie dead beneath setting sun.

They gave their lives that we might live;

no greater gift could children give.

Old age will never call their names,

nor will they play their childhood games

For Allah has gathered to His chest

these angels here we lay to rest.