Words Of A Prostitute Imporisoned For being Insane


Ayad Gharbawi

Oil On Canvas - Ayad Gharbawi

October 3 2009 – Damascus, Syria

What do I think

Who I am ?

I do not know

Who I am?

I am nothing.

That, I know

My ‘dignity’, my ‘morality’

Are scattered

As my meanings are

In fact my entire being

My entire mind

Is scattered

To have any meaningful meaning!

Do you like that?

I mean my words?

Do you like my words?

I lay down in my cell

And sometimes I entertain myself

Are you entertained?

Am I doing any good job for you?

I am and have been

Hated and loved

By idiots, all over and everywhere

And, anyway

They all receded from the muddied shores

Of my sorrowful memories

I am a ‘human’

I think

Who exists

Believing in nothing for anything to be eternal

While everyone surrounding me

Are liars killers and simple-minded thinkers of murder


With a love of their needs that is surely equal to



With its Cold brutality

Passionate blood bursting with heat


And then you’ll need more heated



I live in a box

You called apartments

Are you ‘humans’ serious?!

Wages stingy

Prices posh

And how then are we supposed

To make our ends meet?

And how was I supposed to pay

My wages?


Sin or no Sin

My landlord

Wants his slimy money

Man you bastard!

You have has only committed crime after crime!

I tell you screaming

You’re the only animal

Who needs to blush

From your vomity lies

That you have been force feeding us

And that have been

That have been searingly etched all over

My skull, my dry brain that has been pounded by your lying fists

You who ‘promise’ me ‘love’ and ‘happiness’

And then you all deceive me

Leaving me alone

Unknowing humans

Are you really so ‘unknowing’?

I’m not sure, myself

Now when I look at you all

In the streets, in your homes

I feel, yes, that

You can’t think

You can’t feel

That is certain, for my security of truth

Your intelligence

Is ape-like


Can you ever succeeded

No no no no

Beauty is well beyond you

Yes, you are beautiful for this moment

But didn’t you kind of notice

Your soul is cracked, my Dear?


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