There is a woman in Syria, I do not know her she does not know me.

She is distraught at the death of her son, her screams echo in my consciousness, her tears are my tears my heart goes out to her, we will never meet other than in the spirit of her pain, I am ashamed of being silent, I am ashamed of my safety when all around her is insecure.

When will we ever hold hands, when will we embrace as one in the quest for a settled humanity. God bless her and all like her, I offer my love to this poor poor woman.