A Citizen who lives in the country of Oppression-Stan

Poem by Nizar Qabbani, the Famous Syrian Writer who lived in Exile in London until he died; May he rest in Peace.

As I didn't find a true translation of this masterpiece, rolled up my sleeves and translated it by myself...

A Citizen who lives in the country of Oppression-Stan:

“Do you know who I am?

A Citizen living in Oppression-Stan

This country isn't some Egyptian joke;

Nor an image taken from books of metaphors and rhetorics

the land of Oppression-Stan

was mentioned in the "Countries reference book"

Its main exports is

Skin bags…

Made from human bodies,

what an era, God…

Are you asking for excerpt about the land of Oppression-Stan?

The country which stretches from the shores of subduement to the beaches of murder

to the beaches of scrape, to the beaches of sadness…

And the sword extends

between the entrance to the artery and the flow,

Kings squat over people's necks by heredity

They pop children's eyes by heredity

and hate white papers, ink, and pens by heredity,

and the first clause in the constitution:

cancelling the human instinct to speak,

what an era, God…

Do you know who I am?

A Citizen living in the country of Oppression-Stan

A Citizen…

Dreaming one day to reach the rank of an animal

A Citizen afraid to sit in a café… so

the government won't materialize from the duskiness of the cup

A Citizen too afraid to get close to his wife,

few seconds before the state troopers start monitoring the place,

I'm a citizen from Oppression-Stan,

I fear entering any mosque,

Lest to be said,

That I'm a man who practices faith,

Lest the secret informant who say:

I was reciting surah?"Al-Rahman"

what an era, God…

Do you understand now what

the state of Oppression-Stan is?

The one that was composed…tuned… and directed by the devil…

Do you know of this strange country?

Where a person requires a ruling to enter the toilet,

And the sun requires a ruling to rise,

And the rooster requires a ruling to crow,

And the spouses desire to procreate requires a ruling,

And my love's hair,

being prevented by a policeman to flow with the wind

?without a ruling…

?

My friends:

I'm a Citizen living in a city with no inhabitants

No streets

No pavements

No windows

No walls

No newspapers

except the ones printed at the Sultan's printing house

The Title?

I'm afraid to reveal the title

All I know

whose luck drives him to my city

May god help him

My friends:

What is poetry, if it doesn't declares disobedience?

What is poetry, if it doesn't overthrow tyrants and tyranny?

And what is poetry, if it doesn't cause an earthquake

in that time and place?

Therefore, I'm declaring disobedience

On behalf of the millions who never saw the light of the day,

Who never knew the difference,

between the branch and the bird,

between the roses and the stocks,

between the breast and pomegranate,

between the sea and the dungeon,

who never knew the difference between the green moon and carnation

the difference between the edge of the word courage

and the edge of the guillotine…

Therefore I'm declaring disobedience

On behalf of the millions who are driven to slaughter like herds

On behalf of those whose eyelids were removed

and their teeth were pulled out

and were melted in sulfate acid like worms

On behalf of voiceless people…

Without opinions…

and without tongues…

I'm declaring disobedience

Therefore I'm declaring disobedience

In the name of the masses sitting like cows

in front of the small screen,

In the name of the masses who are feed loyalty

with big spoons,

In the name of the masses ridden like camels,

From the rising of the sun to its setting

Ridden like camels,

And has no rights

Except the right to have water and barley,

And has no ambition except to take the prince's wife

to the barber…

Or prince's daughter…

Or prince's dog…

In the name of the masses that pray to god

to perpetuate the great leader

and alfalfa…

Friends of poetry:

I am the tree of fire and I am the longing priest

on my hands slept the people who love and yearn,

one time I make them doves

and another time I make them Jasmine trees

My friends I'm the wound who always rejects the dominance of the knife…”

My great friends:

I’m the voice, of the voiceless

I’m the eyes, of the eyeless

I’m the book of sea, for the read-less

I’m the writings engraved on prison wards

I’m like this era, my love

I face madness with madness and I broke things as a child,

In my blood, The smell of revolution and lemon…

I am as you always known me

My passion is to break the law,

I am as you always known me

Want to be in poetry… or don’t want to be…

My friends:

You are the true poetry

and doesn’t matter if it laughs…

Or frowns…

Or to anger the Sultan

You are my Sultans…

From you I derive glory, strength,

and authority…

My poems are banned…

In the cities that sleep on Salt and stones

My poems are banned…

Because it carries the fragrance of love for the human,

and the civilization

My poems are rejected…

Because it carries good messages for every home

My friends:

I am still waiting for you

To lit the spark

#NizarQabbani #Syria #OperssionStan