Oh you who have been made homeless—
your homelessness sprawled across lands
penniless
and in despair
as oblivion unfurls between your ribs
The mute blood of yours will never speak out
as long as you brag about death
and proclaim secretly how you’ve safeguarded the soul to those who cannot
understand it.
It will take ages to lose your soul and console your eyes’ fear for all the oil it
once gushed.
This was what a leader of the people said:
Whoever has oil can meet his needs from its by-products
which is far better than he who torches his eyes—
and turns his own heart into a god.
You don’t own enough—
to console you in the face of time’s tribulations
you don’t own a tap of blood—
to spend in the face of broken values
nor do you have enough to extract
a tax on that soul of yours that time has wearied.
You don’t have enough to help you through one day of exile.
You tremble now—
So take what there is of your blood
to fill the belly of exile—
to gather the overseers’ oil
and smother their intention to drag away your soul.
Ask forgiveness from the waters of the river—
and loudly apologize as your blood seeps into its waters.
It is through oil—that you resist!
As you unfasten those secured bras
and leisurely taste the cherries and all else—
and enjoy the wetness between the thighs—
may all pleasure be blessed.
What next—
when all heretics have pitched the axe into your shoulder?
And it has been said that you have gambled with blood that cannot fill desire
and that you have filled the taverns with the malaise of joy—
in order to grab a glass for free.
For free—
aborted words
a used tobacco pouch
and a box—where your mother once trapped your scream—
so that the river can spit you out onto the shore of fear, a kind you’ve never
known.
And there, thunder assures you it can inseminate the clouds—
and give birth to rain that will yet be unable to wash the shame of fear from a
river sleeping in the arms of defeat.
Black pellets of oil—
circulate throughout your cells
healing what your nausea
could not vomit.
Oil is utterly blameless
except for its stains of poverty
the day when the faces of those who discover another oil well turn black*
and your heart—will be filled with new life so that your soul is resurrected as oil
for public consumption.
This is the promise of oil—a promise that will come to pass—**
The end—
* An allusion to Q3:106
** An allusion to Q10:4; 18:98
The following information appears on the website of PEN America. [It is re-posted here for information purposes only and, like the poem re-posted above, remains its author's exclusive copyright-protected intellectual property.]
Ashraf Fayadh is a Palestinian poet, artist, and curator living in Saudi Arabia, who was sentenced to eight years in prison and 800 lashes on charges of apostasy on February 2, 2016. He was initially sentenced to death in 2015. Fayadh was first arrested in 2013 on accusations stemming from his poetry collection Instructions Within and an alleged personal altercation with a man who reported him to Saudi religious authorities.
Fayadh was originally arrested in August 2013 following an argument with a man in the southwestern city of Abha in Saudi Arabia, where Fayadh resided. The man reported him to Saudi Arabia’s religious authorities and he was arrested, but released shortly after. On January 1, 2014, Fayadh was rearrested on charges of apostasy and having illicit relations with women. The charge of apostasy was based on testimony from the man from the argument in 2013 and from two officers from the religious police that had arrested him. The individuals also pointed to supposed atheistic and blasphemous themes in his poetry collection Instructions Within, published in 2008. These poems are ruminations about Fayadh’s life as a Palestinian refugee, as well as cultural and philosophical issues. The charges of illicit relations with women stem from photographs on Fayadh’s phone of him pictured with women, but individuals who attended one of Fayadh’s exhibits have repeatedly stated that the women are fellow artists and friends of Fayadh. Fayadh’s supporters also believe he is being punished by Saudi authorities because he posted a video online showing religious police publicly lashing a man. There are concerns that he is being targeted because of his status as a Palestinian refugee as well, although he was born in Saudi Arabia. Fayadh was born into a stateless family of Palestinian origin, and his only identification documents are issued by the government of Egypt.
The judicial proceedings against Fayadh have lacked any semblance of due process. Saudi police confiscated his identification documents after his arrest in January 2014, then denied him legal representation because he did not possess proper identification. The court case against him has dragged on for two years, and on November 17, 2015, he was found guilty of both charges and sentenced to death by beheading for the charge of apostasy. Fayadh’s father suffered a fatal stroke after learning of the death sentence punishment. Fayadh’s lawyers appealed the death sentence, and in February 2016 the sentence was changed to eight years in prison and 800 lashes.
Fayadh has worked throughout the years to serve as an unofficial ambassador for the small contemporary art scene in Saudi Arabia. He is involved with the art platform Edge of Arabia, which facilitates collaboration between Middle Eastern and Western countries. In 2013, he organized an exhibit, Mostly Visible, in the Saudi city of Jeddah. He co-curated the exhibit Rhizoma as part of Edge of Arabia’s exhibition in 2013 at the Venice Biennale. On December 2, 2015, Fayadh became an honorary member of German PEN.
Use the link below to read a February 2016 article about the plight of Palestinian poet ASHRAF FAYADH posted in the online archive of The Guardian:
ASHRAF FAYADH continues to serve his eight year commuted death sentence in a Saudi prison despite many appeals for his case to be re-tried.
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