text and images britt-arnhild
I am unable to close my eyes for the sufferings of the people of Syria. Mothers. Fathers. Daughters. Son. Grandparents. Lovers.
So much is taken away from them.
Life.
Love.
Safety.
Future.
Syria. The ancient land, where history is buried under every grain of sand.
History of the Middle East.
History of humanity.
My history.
A history I know so little about.
I don´t want to know about the blood of today, but the deep stains can not be stopped by closed eyes.
I know. And I am unable to act.
History woven into tales.
What can I do to dye the wool, the cotton, the linen, the silk. Not blood red, But the red of love, of life.
I tie my hands together in silent cries. Why God? Where are you?
Later, much later, I pick up Rafik Schami´s The Dark Side of Love. A flying carpet. And there I am. In the middle of magic!
