Pinay's Letter From Kuwait

How many more months, how many months,

From my womb a monument can be pulled.

A baby girl or boy,

Whose lips move silently

While gasping for air in the surrounding desert

Or sucking from my arid breast.


It will be born a foreigner

Under foreign laws and in a foreign place,

The twin of tears,

The twin of promises.


Like Oedipus, I want to gouge my eyes.

Like Judas, to sever my breath.

It is the consummation of my sin,

To escape the incomparable poverty.


The punishment is now complete,

The censure and shame are now mine.

I cannot be hurt further.

The blood they crave has already dried.


How many months ago, how many months,

My dream set foot on the desert road.

A fish on dry ground,

A plunging kite.


Am I to be blamed?

I intended to examine my opportunities

Similar to the ritual of washtubs and frying pans.

To mother, I guaranteed the repair of the crumbling walls,

To my siblings, I promised a bright tomorrow.


How many months ago, how many months,

When the Arabo keyed my womb.

My room is a white niche,

I am a skeleton without bones.

My heart hangs among the vines of fear,

Franklin's face on the dollar, snapped.

How many months ago, how many months,

The Arabo usurped my future.


Now I am a pregnant woman persecuted

By foreign laws in foreign soil.

'Impure woman' is my tatoo,

Giving birth without a husband.

The prison doors await,

Who will redeem my name?


How many more months, how many months,

My womb will be a blossoming flower.

A baby boy or girl

Silently will curse revenge.

Its mind and heart will become foreign

Because it will be born without a tongue and ears.