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Amy Barry



Across the border


Familiar smell of death


in the Syrian air.


Troops shelled my village,

olives and almond trees, destroyed.

Tanks crushed the garden of Jasmine.


The sun stabbed at me,

dry breeze seared my skin,

The God-like dictator ruined my life,

my dear ones dead in cold blood.


One time I thought I had died

in my sleep. Cries and tears

ripped out in long bleeding wails,

I shut out the pain with a silent voice,

‘Flee, don’t die here.’


One step after another,

I struggled on.

Like sweet Damask rose,

each breath was freedom.

Fresh tears, hopes fulfilled,

I crossed the Turkish border.







Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. She has worked in the media, hotel and Oil & Gas industries. Her poems have been published in anthologies, journals, and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad. Her poems have been read and shared over the radio in Australia, Canada and Ireland. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris, Berlin have all inspired her work. When not inspired to write, she plays Table Tennis.



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