Translation:
“They butchered babies of Al Houla today, and babies of Al Adaweya yesteday. Will I be the next?” — Babies of Hims
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I, prisoner number 786, look through the bars of the jail. I see my Zaara wrapped in the colours of my village. In making my dreams come true, she has forgotten her own. In serving my people, she has left behind her own. Now, I feel like filling her with copious amounts of happiness. I feel like living another lifetime for her. They say that my country is not hers…then why is she staying in my home? They say that I’m not like her, then why does she look like me?
