The following poem written my Malek Owera L6 (20oweram@students.watfordboys.org) placed in the top 13 out of 1400+ entries in the Tower Poetry Competition, run by Christ Church, Oxford University.
.Hama, Syria
From youth, he has a thunderous appetite for the classics: al-Mutanabbi, al-Ma’arri, Abu Nuwas, ibn Shaddad, ‘We are a people who know no middle ground; for us, it is either the ultimate honour or the grave’ – al-Hamdani’s truest words rain on him like a charm a plague of hail. The boy absorbs the aural beauty of Friday’s athan – eventually remembering this compels him to go and pray. He navigates fearful streets of expired concrete, Eternal Leader’s smile beating down on every block, Scorns the masjid’s surveillant, armed to the teeth with pen and paper. The list of names looks longer than last week. The child savours every utterance of every prayer, the pinnacle of this ancient language. Divine poetry. After, chatterings and rumours escape restless mouths. Stormy proclamations about freedom and the Ikhwan.
He is an apprentice of the Golden Age poets, so he knows the potential of words: To inspire, to create, to speak The truth.
If the murmurs are true – if the uprising is coming – he knows what he is to do. To follow in that ancient discipline and become a rhetorical combatant – glory!
February 3, 1982
“Take up arms for God! Syria! Truth! Or to the grave!” All chant his words, dazzling and rousing and sun-drenched. they know the stakes
February 23, 1982
structures falling, streets shivering in the scent of metal and smoke, the city’s people boiling away in icy February winds;
the country, watching and hearing, learns to whisper about the events; outwardly, they
Deflect, and simulate a conversation about the weather, instead.
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