Context & Author’s Note
This poem is written in the voice of absurd confession—a juridical parody spoken by a powerless teenager accused of crimes that only states and intelligence services commit. It reflects the psychological climate of Syria before the uprising: a society treated as guilty in advance, confessing to crimes it did not commit, awaiting punishment already decided. The violence here is not a call—it is a forecast.
The poem was written in response to the case of Tal al‑Mallohi, born January 4, 1991, a Syrian blogger from Homs. She was arrested in December 2009 for her writings and accused of spying for the United States. Held without trial for over a year, she was sentenced on February 15, 2011, to five years in prison.
Despite completing her sentence, al-Mallohi was not released and remained in captivity for more than a decade. She was freed only after the fall of the Assad regime in late 2024, when prisons were opened amid the collapse of state control.
The text below is extracted from my Arabic diary two days after that sentencing. One month later, the Arab Spring reached Syria. Tal al-Mallohi remained imprisoned for more than a decade, until her release following the fall of the Assad regime in December 2024.
This poem is not a declaration of guilt.
It is an indictment of accusation itself.
Original Arabic text further below. English adaption with the use of AI.
Image by Elizabeth Tr. Armstrong
DAMASCUS Rural –
I confess to all my crimes,
to every loss, to every sign.
I made the calls. I drew the lines.
I planned the hits. I crossed the lines.
I am the agent—greatest, true—
of every service spying you.
The Russian officer at sea— [1]
I drowned him, yes, that one was me.
The resistance chief downtown— [2]
I blew him up, I burned him down.
The Sultan’s adviser by the shore— [3]
I took my aim. I needed more.
And for each body yet to fall,
for crimes unborn, I claim them all.
I pre-confess—no need to ask—
to every future, every task.
I confess to you—then kill me.
Sharpen your tools. Come, judge me.
Use what you have, then preach to me.
But I will not apologize.
Not for my crimes. Not for your lies.
For I am weapon, nothing more.
No soul inside. No inner core.
I am an object. I am steel.
No mind to doubt. No pain to feel.
The human in me died one day [4]
when I chose to clear my way—
the day I learned that dignity
is treason in this polity.
I am the weapon—end my breath.
Then trace the money. Follow death.
Ask who paid me, who conspired,
who taught your hatred, who inspired.
I took no funds from Mossad’s hand.
No starving state, no failing land.
Yet I was ready—free of fee—
to work for anyone, for free,
to settle scores with rotten reign,
with corruption crowned as chain,
with the Sultan who turned me on you,
filled me with rage, then pulled it through—
the trigger clicked the day he stole
my home, my ground, my name, my soul.
So sentence me to ten, not five.
If state prestige did not survive,
then give me centuries instead—
a thousand years. I’ll serve them dead.
What does your verdict mean to me?
What weight has law, what dignity,
if—like the flock you call your own—
you’ll meet the knife before year’s end,
by my belief
and by yours.
Footnotes & Historical Context
[1] “The Russian officer at sea”
This line refers to Yury Ivanov, Deputy Chief of Russia’s Military Intelligence Directorate (GRU).
In August 2010, Ivanov disappeared while reportedly on holiday in Syria. His body was later found floating in the Mediterranean Sea near the Turkish coast. Russian authorities announced death by drowning, but the circumstances—location, timing, and Ivanov’s intelligence role—sparked widespread speculation in regional and international media. His presence near the Syrian coast and proximity to sensitive military sites made the incident particularly notable in the pre-2011 Syrian security climate.
[2] “The resistance chief downtown”
This line refers to Imad Mughniyeh, one of Hezbollah’s most senior military commanders.
On February 12, 2008, Mughniyeh was killed in a car bombing in the Kfar Sousa district of Damascus, an area known for high-security installations. The assassination was widely attributed to a joint Israeli–Western intelligence operation, though no official claim was made at the time. The killing was a major regional shock and underscored Syria’s role as an arena for international covert conflict well before the uprising.
[3] “The Sultan’s adviser by the shore”
This line refers to Mohammad Suleiman, a senior military and security adviser to Syrian President Bashar al-Assad.
In August 2008, Suleiman was shot and killed at a villa in the coastal city of Tartous. Initial reports described the incident as mysterious; later accounts suggested the involvement of a foreign special operation, possibly linked to Israeli intelligence. His death was one of the most significant high-level assassinations inside Syria prior to 2011 and contributed to a pervasive atmosphere of paranoia, silence, and unspoken fear.
[4] “The human in me died one day…”
In the original Arabic text, this line explicitly references the assassination of Anwar Sadat, President of Egypt, who was killed in 1981.
The speaker does not claim the act literally. Instead, the reference functions as hyperbolic confession: the teenage voice absorbs every historical and political crime she has been accused of in advance. By naming Sadat—an assassination carried out decades earlier by organized militants—the poem exaggerates the logic of the accusation to the point of absurdity.
The meaning is psychological, not factual:
the human self dies the moment dignity, thought, and dissent are criminalized, and the accused is reduced to a weapon in the state’s narrative.
أعترف بكلّ جرائمي
أعترف بكل هزائمي
أنا الّذي قمت بالاتّصالاتْ
أنا الّذي نفّذت الاغتيالاتْ
انا العميل الأكبرُ ..
لكلِّ أجهزةِ المخابراتْ
الضّابطَ الروسيّ في البحر أغرقتهُ
قائدَ المقاومةِ في العاصمة فجّرتهُ
مستشارَ السّلطان بزندي قنصتهُ
عن كلَّ من سيُقتلْ
أعترف سلفاً ..
عن كلَّ جريمةٍ في المستقبلْ
أعترف لكم، فلتعدموني
على خازوقكم فلتضعوني
لكنّي .. لا أعتذرْ ..
عن جرائمي .. لن أعتذرْ
لأننّي السّلاحُ، لا روحَ لي
لاننّي جمادٌ، لا عقلَ لي
لأنَّ الإنسانَ فيني ماتْ
منذ قرّرتُ إغتيال السّاداتْ
أنا السّلاح، فلتعدموني
و لتنظروا في مَن موّلوني
في مَن عليكم حرّضوني
أنا لم أتلقّى الأموال مِن الموسادْ
لم أتلقّاها مِن بلاد يعمّها الكسادْ
لكنّي كنت مستعداً للعمل لأي شخص .. بالمجّانْ
لكي أقتّص مِن دولة الفسادْ ..
مِن السلطانْ
الّذي عليكم حرّضني
الّذي بالحقد ملأني
الّذي ضغط على الزّنادْ ..
عندما سلب منّي .. وطني
فلتحكموا عليّ بعشر سنين بدل الخمسةْ
إن كنتُ نلتُ مِن هيبة الدّولةْ
فلتحكموا عليّ بألفِ عامْ
فماذا يهمّني مِن حكمكمْ؟
ماذا يهمّني مِن قراركمْ؟
إن كنتم ستُذبحون كباقي الأغنامْ
قبل نهاية هذا العامْ
بإذن ديني.. و دينكمْ
Roumani Line 