Poem #15. Where is the Escape? [أين المفر؟]

By Ahmed Matar, translated by The Scholar

Painting by John Singer Sargent

[Standard Translation]

In our homeland, one
is imprisoned in his skin
since youth
and underneath every drop of his blood
hidden is a bloodhound¹
Its fingerprints have photos
Its breaths have photos
One in our homeland
Is nothing but a file
Its cover is human skin
Where is the escape?

Our homelands are a day of Judgment
Which contains nothing but hell
And one in it has sinned
And his sin can never be forgiven
If he sensed or felt
He is hanged by the Ruler… fate and destiny
If he looked
He is run over by the car of the palace… fate and destiny
If he complained
Poison is put in his drink
Fate and destiny…
No path.. no, no refuge
There is but no escape from death
Oh our Lord
Don’t blame the dead in our homelands if they commits suicide
For everything we have here is nationalized
Even fate and destiny

المرء في أوطاننا
معتقل في جلده
منذ الصغر
وتحت كل قطرة من دمه
مختبئ كلب أثر
بصماته لها صور
أنفاسه لها صور
المرء في أوطاننا
ليس سوى اضبارة
غلافها جلد بشر
أين المفر؟الوالي

أوطاننا قيامة
لا تحتوي غير سقر
والمرء فيها مذنب
وذنبه لا يغتفر
إذا أحس أو شعر
يشنقه الوالي.. قضاء وقدر
إذا نظر
تدهسه سيارة القصر.. قضاء وقدر
إذا شكا
يوضع في شرابه سم
.. قضاء وقدر
لا درب.. كلا لا وزر
ليس من الموت مفر
يا ربنا
لا تلم الميت في أوطاننا إذا انتحر
فكل شيء عندنا مؤمّمٌ
حتى القضاء والقدر!

[Translation With Romanization]

In our homeland, one
المرء في أوطاننا
Al-mar'u fi awtanina

is imprisoned in his skin
معتقل في جلده
mutaqal fi jildih

since youth
منذ الصغر
mundhu al-sighar

And underneath every drop of his blood
وتحت كل قطرة من دمه
Wa tahta kulli qatrah min damih

hidden is a bloodhound
مختبئ كلب أثر
mukhtabi kalb athar

Its fingerprints have photos
بصماته لها صور
Basamatuhu laha suwar

Its breaths have photos
أنفاسه لها صور
Anfasuhu laha suwar

One in our homeland is nothing but a file
المرء في أوطاننا ليس سوى اضبارة
Al-mar'u fi awtanina laysa siwa idbarah

Its cover is human skin
غلافها جلد بشر
Ghilafuha jild bashar

Where is the escape?
أين المفر؟
Ayna al-mafarr?

Our homelands are a Day of Judgment
أوطاننا قيامة
Awtanina qiyamah

Which contains nothing but Hell
لا تحتوي غير سقر
La tahtawi ghayr saqar

And the one in it is a sinner
والمرء فيها مذنب
Wal-mar'u fiha mudhnib

And his sin can never be forgiven
وذنبه لا يغتفر
Wa dhanbuhu la yughfar

If he sensed or felt
إذا أحس أو شعر
Idha ahassa aw sha'ar

He is hanged by the Ruler…fate and destiny
يشنقه الوالي.. قضاء وقدر
Yashnuquhu al-wali… qada wa qadar

If he looked
إذا نظر
Idha nazar

He is run over by the car of the palace…fate and destiny
تدهسه سيارة القصر.. قضاء وقدر
Tadahisuhu sayyarat al-qasr… qada wa qadar

If he complained
إذا شكا
Idha shaka

Poison is put in his drink…fate and destiny
يوضع في شرابه سم.. قضاء وقدر
Yuda' fi sharabih samm… qada wa qadar

No path… no, no refuge
لا درب.. كلا لا وزر
La darb… kalla, la wizr

There is but no escape from death
ليس من الموت مفر
Laysa min al-mawt mafarr

O our Lord
يا ربنا
Ya Rabbana

do not blame the dead in our homelands if he commits suicide
لا تلم الميت في أوطاننا إذا انتحر
la talum al-mayyit fi awtanina idha intahar

For everything we have here is nationalized
فكل شيء عندنا مؤمّمٌ
Fa-kullu shay'in 'indana mu'ammam

Even fate and destiny!
حتى القضاء والقدر!
Hatta al-qada wal-qadar!

[Scholars Notes]

What becomes of one who lives in an Orwellian society, under the Arab sphere, and is a writer/poet for a living? They get exiled, that's what. In his Orwellian-meets-Arabia poem "Where is the Escape," Ahmed Matar, Iraqi poet, critic, and outspoken revolutionary against the authoritarian rule of his homeland, encapsulates the feeling of despair that arises from the seeming lack of escape.

Despair seeps through these lines from the very first, when he writes, "In our homeland, one is imprisoned in his skin since youth." While imprisonment is often thought of as physical incarceration, Matar transcends this perspective to showcase the type of internalized oppression one faces in an authoritarian country. When the bloodhound tracks every drop of blood, this refers to the surveillance imposed on citizens. The fingerprints that are photos, tangible and cataloged, and the breaths, intangible and yet also recorded, all are condensed into a file. Everyone is watched, and no one is free from the all-seeing eye of the state. There is no escape.

In the second stanza of the poem, Matar digs deeper into the psychological torment of living under an authoritarian regime. The Day of Judgment is an idea common to Abrahamic religions—Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—where, according to belief, individuals are judged based on their actions and either deemed fit for Heaven or condemned to Hell. But in this homeland, there is no Heaven. It does not exist. Only Hell reigns loose. In a paradoxical sense, every death is framed as fate and destiny, when in truth, these deaths are deliberate actions carried out by the oppressors, not the work of divine will. Even in the final lines, when the poet says, "No path... no, no, burden," he implies that there is no escape, yet there is no burden of sin either. The crushing reality is that one’s suffering and fate are not self-inflicted but imposed by the country, a torment that is not just physical, but deeply psychological.

So where is the escape? How deep does this oppression seep into the lives of Iraqis? Just as with most traditional families, mine was blessed with nine aunts and uncles combined. Nine living adults, nine rascal children when they were young. Imagine living in this state of fear and oppression, with nine children who, like any other children, love to talk, play, and poke fun. This poem perfectly encapsulates the fear my grandparents had while raising those children. My grandmother would tell tales of how she would warn, no, instill the fear of the devil in their souls, telling them never to mention the government in any way. Never to express any opinions. Never to mention any names. Like Voldemort, politicians' names were never to be spoken. The mere mention of a name, even a casual comment like "his haircut looks awful," could land one and their entire family in jail. This was how deep the fear ran. While important officials might receive the treatment of excuses "run over by a car, poisoned" poverty-stricken families would be killed without thought, reason, or guilt. Ahmed Matar, Iraqi poet, who speaks for all Arab families when he says “Where is the Escape?.”

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Video: Poetry and recitation: Ahmed Matar

1. The literal translation of the Arabic denotes “tracking hounds” or “scent-tracking dogs,” but a more accurate rendering would be “bloodhound,” the real-life breed commonly used by law enforcement to track scent.