My land

is that lady who searched

from the moment the sun woke up

until the moon took over

for twenty years or more

every prison in my nation

to find

her executed husband.

My land

is that child

who was gave birth to

in a prison cell, last year.

Or maybe the mother

who shouted out the pain

while bringing the embryo to life

by cursing the baby’s father

-the man who raped her-.

My land

is the man on tv

from exile

who encourages me

to boycott the elections

in the hope for Americans to help

by bombing my land.

Or the old man

who is watching tv

and hoping to find

some radiation of light

in the face of the speaker…

My land

is the unknown art student

who was passing by

and accidentally

got arrested

in a wide

student demonstration

and became

the hero of my land.

My land

is the writer who was imprisoned

many times

either when the lions ruled

or when the vultures came.

Oh my land,

You are so lonely my land.

You are alone my land.

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