My heart cries tears of blood for the widows of Baghdad,
My soul aches for the children of Kashmir, be it occupied or Azaad,
A child in Haiti knows his pain is mine,
And a father in Gaza sees his dreams in my eyes.
I may be Kashmiri but my heart bleeds for Bahrain,
Your pride is my pride and I feel your pain,
They say intentions are measured through the actions of a man,
How do I live with inaction whilst your blood is on my hands,
You pain is measured by the conviction in my eyes,
And my conviction measured by my refusal to beleive your lie.
The people of Yemen show the weak, what is strength,
They live for peace for their children and better lives ahead,
In Syria I see determination, these people are my own,
They challenge the powers of the crown and the throne,
You may dictate their lives, but their souls’ remain free,
Please don’t tell me that these people are different to you and me?
In Africa children starve, I feel their pain and plight,
I wish I could promise them an easier passage through life,
My sister Doa’a humbles me with her beautiful smile,
She laughs through her pain with the innocence of a child,
Restoring hope amongst those who were raised without hope,
She gives children an image of life where they can cope.
I feel the pain of my people stranggled by oppression,
I say their struggles are my own and I will never forget them,
All I do is for them in the service of my Lord,
The mistakes are my own, I claim nothing more.