In the Syrian Labyrinth: The Impasse of International Law

In the Syrian Labyrinth: The Impasse of International Law – TeleSUR


DAMASCUS, SYRIA – JANUARY 31: In this handout provided by the United Nation Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA), Residents wait in line to receive food aid distributed in the Yarmouk refugee camp on January 31, 2014 in Damascus, Syria. The United Nations renewed calls for the Syria regime and rebels to allow food and medical aid into the Palestinian camp of Yarmouk. An estimated 18,000 people are besieged inside the camp as the conflict in Syria continues. (Photo by United Nation Relief and Works Agency via Getty Images)



Kusurlunun Politikası/The Politics of the Imperfect

Kusurlunun Politikası

James Luchte

Turkish translation of ‘The Politics of the Imperfect: Building a Different World.’

Istiraki 7-8


issue_2I thought it would be different –

a police state, definitely,

with defeated souls wandering

with dower, abject eyes,

trained & disciplined to the dirt.

The propaganda had done its work

on me, built the limits of my knowledge,

not to mention the auxiliary websites,

which spoke of the tortures of the regime.

I was expecting the worst –

To read the rest of the poem, please visit Damascus

The Road to Damascus

aziza-jalal-Aziza Jalal, this goddess of song,

flavours my coffee as I wait

for my love to return.

Shattered by expression, emotion…

I cannot understand any of her words….

I wave to and greet Bashar’s portraits

on the road, especially near

guarded military bases that

set in wait for the next war.

Trees grow in front of the portraits,

concealing the faces of emergency.

(Damascus is surrounded by

fortified hills, building, preparing

for the ever-impending invasion).

He is waving back with

a funny, awkward smile.

The terrain is rough, dry,

with blooming orchards,

olive trees, grapes, and figs.

Half way between Aleppo

and Damascus, we stop at

a petrol station – immediately

a frenetic smiling man pulls

us out for tea and shisha.

He is watching ‘Neighbours’ with

Arabic subtitles, he asks

in a rhetorical way, ‘Isn’t it good?’

We drive past a new university,

dancing to Arabic music – it will

have its own shopping mall.

The cab driver sings to us, pointing

out the site of an Israeli bombing.

We pass by Damascus to the suburbs,

to Cora Assad, Assad Villages, where

my love’s parents await our arrival.

Damascus will have to wait.