Baby, go to sleep my darling , and don't move. I'll caress your hair through the night and hum your favorite tones, I'll keep the wolves away .and in the morning , I'll fix your ripped pants and wash your white shirt.
Sleep my baby, I'll hold you in my arms, bring your face close to my heart , and whisper to the angels , ask them to tell you fairy tales.
Sing for him Fayrouz (the most famous Lebanese singer who lost a son when he was a toddler). Sing for him as you sang for your son. And sing loud, he's afraid of the dark. “ya maymti, you're still so young, you , like the roses , didn't reach you first year yet...”

To Her, why are your eyes open like this? What are you looking for?
Here, there are the remains right in front of you. Your parents' remains .
Is this your mother's arm? Take it , hug it , smell to find out whether it's your mom's or your dad's ...
They're not exactly open, your eyes. They're half closed, as if you were getting ready to fall asleep.
You seem to enjoy your nap. Doesn't that piece of cement on your left foot bother you? Don't you fear colic pains with your tummy uncovered like this?
I'll cover you before the night falls, and I'll undo your pony tail so you don't get a headache.
Did you ever sleep in the open sky before, your body lying on thorns and rocks? Where do the poor sleep then?
Your face is still white, and your cheek feels like silk. I know. I passed my fingers on it secretly , fearing I'd wake you up.
You're far from the rest of your family. Who threw you so far away? Who left you alone, in the middle of nowhere?

To Him, Did you know , when you joined the small truck, and stretched your right arm comfortably behind the back of the person sitting next to you , that that hand was to remain there for ever ?
And that feeling of relief that appears in the way your eyes are closed and your mouth is half opened, did you get it the minute you left your burning town? Did you know when you move your head backwards, that it will land on the remains of your loved ones ?
And in your current sleep, and in the wildest dreams you might be having, does it occur to you that some of us would rather not have your pictures published , nor your story told, not to heart their “feelings”.

Die, die deeply.
Go as far away as you can from the poison their air fighters are dropping , and that contained in the words of some of your own people.
And up there , when you meet your god, ask for victory for those who are working so this never happens to you again."