Disclaimer
This poem was written in 2006, when I was a teenager. It reflects a personal perspective shaped by that time and by my own struggles with identity, relationships, and the social pressures surrounding ideas of freedom and self-expression.
The poem is not a judgment of women or men, nor a commentary on how anyone should dress or present themselves. A woman’s body is her own medium—whether veiled or exposed, entirely by her own choice. Likewise, this text is not a call to change behavior, but a record of how certain social norms appeared to me at that age.
What the poem questions is the gap I perceived, as a young person, between outward displays of “liberty” and lived experiences that still felt restrictive, manipulative, or unfree. It is a critique of appearances and assumptions—not of bodies, genders, or individual choices.
This work is shared as a historical diary piece, not as a contemporary position or universal claim.
Adapted from my Arabic diary (5 December 2006) with the help of AI.
The original poem appears below.Image by Pixabay
Damascus —
Undress as you please—
ignite the streets in flame,
extinguish evening’s stars, erase their name.
Claim all you want of progress and revolt,
of skies deemed backward, heaven’s fault.
Proclaim yourself an icon, raised on high,
the sovereign of women, crowned to fly.
Lay claim to wisdom, prophecy, and grace—
invent whatever suits you, any face.
Your claims do not disturb me, not at all;
I see the rust beneath your painted wall.
Your tightened jeans do nothing to entice,
nor does your hair unbound, your scarf’s demise.
I do not worship freedom’s hollow shell,
emptied of meaning, stripped of truth as well.
What freedom is this—what masquerade—
whose highest point is stripping unafraid?
What freedom is this creed you choose to wear
that turns the body into market fare?
From Western “civilization,” was desire
the only spark you drew from all that fire?
From all their depth, refinement, thought, and art,
was winter’s hem the lesson you took part?
If only you had known their deeper core,
if only you had grasped women’s freedom more.
You climbed so high—yet gained no lasting claim
except the fall from heights you could not sustain.
Undress as you please.
I am not deceived by the likes of you—
what women were, reduced to residue.
تعرِّي كما تشائينَ ..
وأشعلي النيرانَ في الشوارعِ
وأطفئي نجومَ المساءِ
ادّعي ما أردتِ من الحضارةِ
والثورةِ على رجعيّةِ السماءِ
ادّعي أنّكِ مثلٌ أعلى
وأنّكِ سيّدةُ النساءِ
ادّعي الحكمةَ والنبوّةَ
وكلَّ ما تشائينَ
فلا تؤثّرُ بي ادّعاءاتُكِ
ولا يخفى عليَّ صدؤكِ تحتَ الطلاءِ
بنطالكِ الضيّقُ ليسَ يُغريني
ولا يهمّني عن شعركِ خلعُ الغطاءِ
فلستُ من يؤمنُ بقشرةِ حريّةٍ
مُفرغةٍ من معنى الوفاءِ
أيُّ حريّةٍ هذهِ التي ..
ذروتُها تعرٍّ في العراءِ؟
وأيُّ حريّةٍ هذهِ التي
جعلتكِ لحماً للبيعِ والشراءِ؟
أما أعجبكِ بحضارةِ الغربِ
إلاّ الإثارةَ بالرّداءِ؟
أما فهمتِ من رُقيِّهمُ
إلاّ القصيرَ في الشتاءِ؟
ليتكِ عرفتِ صلبَ حضارتهمْ
ليتكِ فهمتِ حريّةَ النساءِ
لكنّكِ صعدتِ إلى العُلى وما جنيتِ
إلاّ السقوطَ من العلياءِ
تعرّي كما تشائينَ
فلستُ من يُخدعُ بأمثالكِ ..
يا بقايا من بقايا النساءِ
Roumani Line 