Damask Rose Tale

We escaped from the fear, destruction, and the smell of blood and the specter of death that roamed the country from east to west. We fled and left everything behind; our house walls kept our happy and sad memories and even the memory of our escape. Our loyal dog, Sharon, was left behind. I still remember when we were going, he wanted to come with us because he sensed we would not be back soon, but it was necessary to him to take care of the house and the little garden. We were sure Sharon would take care of both of them. And this what had prevented Sharon from following us.

I talked to my little girl and told her “I am Sorry, my little girl, but you have to stay here. You belong here, and one day we will meet again. You always have loved this house and its garden, so I am sure you will love to be here. I will keep you in my heart and my prayer. But as you see, it is dangerous to stay here. All our neighbors left a few days ago, and there is nobody in the neighborhood except us. They will break in at any minute and kill us. You didn’t see the news, how they killed the protesters in Homs, they even killed the children. They are monsters, and we can’t fight them alone. I promise you I will come back to visit you, but I can’t promise when. I took your pictures, dolls and one of your damask roses to remember you, sweetheart.”

We had a beautiful garden, there were Basil plants, Damask roses, and jasmine Shami. I planted them myself. Oh god, I missed them as much as I lost my little girl. She helped me to plant the damask roses, and she gave each of them a name and talked to them always. She always said to me “when I will grow up and get married I want to use Damask roses in my bridal bouquet.”


She didn’t grow up and didn’t get married. However, she wore white like a bride and carried her roses as she wished. Her father carryed her in his arms, and everyone was singing and hoped for her to be happy in the place where she was going. Then they put her down near the damask rose and her father and I moved her veil. She was smiling but didn’t say a word. We kissed her the last kiss.


My little girl was buried in the garden next to the Damask rose tree. The regime killed her while she was playing with other kids in their school. They attacked the School by dropping a barrel bomb. We lost her

We lost our home,

We lost our little garden

We lost our loyal dog

We lost our memories

We lost our identity

We lost our dignity.

We lost ourselves

We lost Syria.



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