A poem from Ghadeh Alsaman
An able poet from Syria

If you come to my home, bring me a pencil, a black pencil;
I want to draw a line on my face, so I won't be caged for the crime of beauty, also a cross on my heart so I won't be tempted!
Give me an eraser for erasing the lips, I don't want anyone to blacken me due to their redness.
A shovel, so I uproot my feminine virtues, sow my being... without these is heaven's way easier.
Give me a razor to shave my hair off and air my head, and to think some without head cover.
Give me thread and needle, for my tongue. I want... to sew it to my mouth... this way are my cries quieter.
Don't forget the scissors, I want to censor my thoughts!
I also need washing powder to wash my brain!
When I've washed my brain to hang it on the line so the wind can take my marks to where the Arab threw his flute.
Do you know? One should be realistic! If you find a silencer, also take it!
I want to shut my sobs in my throat when they beat me as a prostitute for the crime of love and choice.
I want a copy of my identity, to, so when the religious brothers and sisters swear at me and humiliate me in the name of preaching, I can remember who I am.
Pray to god... if you see they sell rights somewhere, buy some for me, so I can mix it with my food and deny me them before others do.
Finally, if you get some money, buy me a sign to hang on my neck... and I'll write on it in large letters: