Dungeons of Damascus

Dungeons of Damascus

Hear the author reciting Dungeons of Damascus
 

She wept for her father
In the dungeons of Damascus

“I had heard of orphans
But never felt the pain
I cry now, orphaned
In the dungeons of Damascus

They slap me when I cry
They have beaten us from Karbala

Muharram

Dungeons of Damascus

They still curse us
In the dungeons of Damascus

I cannot breath behind these bars
The air is stiffening
We are hungry and thirsty
In the dungeons of Damascus

My eyes are full of tears
My ears are bloody
I’m covered with lash marks
In the dungeons of Damascus

I sleep in the lap of auntie Zainab
Brother Abid prays day and night
I’m comforted, ‘one day we’ll be free’
Free, like the birds that fly outside
I wait for that day
When I will go home
From the dungeons of Damascus

Where is uncle Abbas?
Where is brother Ali Akbar?
Where is cousin Qasim?
Where is my sweetheart, Ali Asghar?
I wait for them to rescue me
From the dungeons of Damascus”

She wrapped her arms around his head
“Where are you dear father?
I’m in the dungeons of Damascus”

She wept and closed her eyes
In the dungeons of Damascus

Sakina softly died
In the dungeons of Damascus

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Yahya Naqvi is a poet based in Michigan and currently completing medical school. He recites is poetry regularly at Muharram gatherings, religious events, open mics, and poetry readings.