We move down the new streets

Concrete at our feet

And admire the careful architecture

Of the city on the Orontes

Where Water flows like life itself.

And down the slim streets we tour,

Without a breath of sound

No gun-fire, or cries, not a whisper.

And as we walk, we ask

In this city of revolution,

A city which no one saw fall

Why is it so silent now?

Figures rush from corner to corner

Shrouded in the dust of the walls

They sprang from, and are gone again.

Where are the people of Hama?

And an old man answers

A single survivor,

Pointing to the earth, the city buried beneath.

“Here they are.” He says. “Here are the people of Hama.”

And under our feet, a thousand lie

Trapped by the regime and the concrete

Which hides and forgets

Where a city once stood

And was buried alive.