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AP PHOTOS: Scrawled on walls of Assad’s prisons, graffiti express fears, loves of tormented Syrians

DAMASCUS, Syria (AP) 鈥 Languishing in a dungeon cell of Syria鈥檚 then-ruler Bashar Assad, an unknown prisoner scrawled a verse of Arabic poetry on his cell wall 鈥 an expression of pain and love amid his torment.

鈥淢y country, even if it oppresses me, is dear. My people, even if uncharitable to me, are generous,鈥 he wrote. It鈥檚 a well-known verse, composed 800 years ago by a poet defying a tyrannical caliph.

As you walk through the , the graffiti on the walls cry out. They plead to God and yearn for loved ones. Often mysterious, they preserve fragments of what anonymous men were thinking as they faced torture and death.

鈥淭rust no one, not even your brother,鈥 someone darkly warns on a cell wall in Damascus鈥 notorious Palestine Branch detention facility.

鈥淥h Lord, bring relief,鈥 groans another.

Since 2011, tens of thousands of Syrians vanished inside the network of prisons and detention facilities run by Assad鈥檚 security forces as they tried to crush his opposition. Inmates went for years without contact with the outside world, living in overcrowded, windowless cells where their cellmates died around them. Torture and beatings were inflicted daily. Mass executions were frequent.

Most inmates would have fully expected to die. They had no reason to believe anyone would ever see the messages they scratched into the walls except future prisoners.

One wrote a single word in Arabic, 鈥渁shtaqtilak鈥 鈥 鈥淚 miss you鈥 鈥 a love letter that could never be sent to a beloved whose name only the writer need know.

More than a month after the by insurgents who in December, The Associated Press toured several facilities to view the graffiti left behind. Nothing can be known about the men who drew and wrote them. Only a few bear names, and few are dated. It鈥檚 impossible to know who of them lived or died.

Some walls have layers of graffiti on top of each other, marking generations of suffering.

鈥淒on鈥檛 be sad, mother. This is my fate,鈥 reads one, dated Jan. 1, 2024. Underneath it are traces of an older text, so faded that only a few words are legible: 鈥濃 except for you鈥 鈥 a hint of longing for a loved one.

Many of the writings and drawings are cries to parents or loved ones. Someone drew a heart broken in two, with 鈥渕other鈥 written in one side, 鈥渇ather鈥 in the other.

Some quote poetry. 鈥淲hen you wage your wars, think of those who ask for peace,鈥 reads one, slightly misremembering a verse by Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish.

Many kept calendars, filling walls with grids of numbers. 鈥淎 year passed,鈥 was one prisoner鈥檚 terse summary above a field of 365 dots arranged in rows.

Some drawings are even playful, like googly-eye cartoon faces or a joint of hashish. Others are flights of fancy whose meaning, if any, was known only to the prisoner. One scene shows a landscape of rolling hills and forests of bare trees, where a pack of wolves howls at the sky and a bird of prey grips a hissing snake in its talons.

Darkness and fear hang over most, along with attempts to endure.

鈥淧atience is beautiful, and God the one from whom we seek help,鈥 one wrote. 鈥淕od, fill me with me patience and don鈥檛 let me despair.鈥

Copyright © 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, written or redistributed.

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