Tense Times - Ashram Fayadh

[Larry Robinson]

Tense Times

Tense times for me, 
and sleep’s acting like a newly love-struck teen. 
I shall disregard the state my heart’s in 
and my mind’s upheavals like water bubbling 
past the boiling point.

I am a part of the universe with which the universe is angry, 
a part of the earth of which the earth feels utterly ashamed, 
a wretched human towards whom 
other humans cannot maintain neutrality.

Neutrality: an illusion 
like all the graces of which humans speak, so shamelessly theoretical. 
Truth is an inadequate term, just like Man,
and love bumps about,
a miserable fly 
trapped in a glass box. 
Freedom is very relative:
all said and done we live in a ball-shaped prison 
barred with ozone.
Set free, our fate
is certain death.

I am incapable of laughing.
Completely incapable of smiling, even. 
Incapable, at the same time, of crying. 
Incapable of acting like a human being, 
which doesn’t upset me in the slightest 
though it hurts so 
to have a body covered with light down, 
to walk on two limbs, 
to depend wholly on your mind, 
to be drawn after your desires to the furthest point, 
to have your freedom trapped, 
to have others decide to kill you, 
to miss those closest to you 
without a chance to say farewell.

What good does Farewell do 
but leave a sad impression? 
What good’s meeting? 
What good’s love? 
What good is it to be this alive 
while others die from sorrow 
over you?

I saw my father for the last time through thick glass
then he departed, for good. 
Because of me, let’s say. 
Let us say because he could not bear the thought 
I’d die before him. 
My father died and left death to besiege me 
without it frightening me sufficiently. 
Why does death scare us to death? 
My father departed after a long time 
spent on the surface of this planet. 
I didn’t say farewell as I should have 
nor grieve for him as I should have 
and was incapable of tears, 
as is my habit, which grows uglier with time.

The soldiers besiege me on all fronts 
in uniforms of poor color. 
Laws and regimes and statutes besiege me. 
Sovereignty besieges me,
a highly concentrated instinct that living creatures cannot shake. 
My loneliness besieges me. 
My loneliness chokes me. 
I am choked by depression, nervousness, worry. 
Remorse, that I’m a member of the human race, kills me.
I was unable to say goodbye to all those I love 
and who departed, even temporarily. 
I was unable to leave a good impression of a last meeting.
Then I yielded to the rifles of longing 
leveled my way. 
I refused to raise my hand 
and became incapacitated. 
Then I was bound by sorrow 
that failed to force me to tears.

The Knowing gnaws at me from within, 
killing every shot I have at survival. 
The Knowing is killing me slowly 
and it’s much too late for a cure.

	- Ashram Fayadh

Fayadh is a Palestinian poet, living in exile in Saudi Arabia. In 2015, he was sentenced to death for  cursing against Allah and the prophet Muhammad, insulting Saudi Arabia and distributing a book of his poems <http://http//arablit.org/2015/01/13/imprisoned-poet-ashraf-fayadhs-frida-kahlos-mustache/> that promoted atheism. The above is the first poem he wrote while imprisoned. 

Hundreds of leading authors, artists and actors, including the director of Tate Modern, Chris Dercon, the British poet laureate, Carol Ann Duffy, and actor Helen Mirren  appealed for his release <x-gu://item/mobile.guardianapis.com/international/items/world/2015/nov/25/cultural-figures-human-rights-groups-call-release-ashraf-fayadh-poet-facing-execution>. More than 60 international arts and human rights groups, including Amnesty International and the writers’ association PEN International, launched a campaign calling on the Saudi authorities and western governments to save him. Readings of his poetry in support of his case took place in 44 countries <x-gu://item/mobile.guardianapis.com/international/items/books/2016/jan/14/writers-join-worldwide-action-to-protest-palestinian-poets-death-sentence-in-saudi-arabia>.

His sentence was later commuted to eight years, 800 lashes and a personal renunciation of his work.


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