From Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani's Bread, Hashish, and Moon (my translation):
"In the nights of the East when...
the moon reaches its fullness..
The East is stripped from any dignity
and struggle..
And the millions which run without shoes...
and which believe in four wives...
and in the Day of Judgment..
The millions that do not meet bread..
except in imagination..
and which inhabit at night houses
from cough...
They never knew the form of medicine..
they become corps under the light..
in my homeland.."