It's been three days since we've been here,
My six months old daughter, Zulfiqar, hasn't eaten anything since then,
And as of her mother's corpse lying here,
Her smashed up face has started to decay.
In a small corner of a small ruined house we lay,
Explosions and gunshots we hear everyday.
Everytime I hear the sound of small children burning to death,
I look down at my Zulfiqar and weep at her frail breaths.
I'm a man with a heart of steel but it melts when Zulfiqar sucks my thumb.
Time again time she cries out of hunger and my veins go numb.
I finally decide that it's time to do it, I can't let my child starve to death.
It is a cold evening and the firing has stopped,
I take it as my only chance, I pick up my crying Zulfiqar and run for the school were food supplies have been dropped.
I hear a bang as something sweeps past me.
Then the chain of bangs follows and then follows the pain.
I collapse down to the ground and from my hands rolls out Zulfiqar.
I'm in pain as I look at her, she is not crying.
Her eyes are closed as if she is sound asleep.
Then I see something that breaks me down to the ground,
Blood starts flowing from her head and her whole little body is covered in wounds.
I let out a shriek, a cry of despair.
The wounds in my heart and the wounds of the gunshots hurt too much to bear.
I look up to the sky, it is clear today.
I say my prayers as I lay waiting for the Angel of death.
And as I slowly see the death approach, I think to myself that I'm just another Syrian Dad Who Failed To Save His Child.
© Alhaad Hussain