Sadly

 On roads with slogans,

We spoke, fists were high

All were young, very sure:

“We revolve and are right…”

And we were,

In some mirrors,

Dream-likes…

Emblem, Lion-Sun,

On passports of Iran

Stood firm and proud.

Traveled near, far, 

Both inland and abroad.

Visited the Yankees,

Europeans, Japanese.

Adored their governments 

And the laws they obeyed: 

“Live free, equal.”

Our laws were in reverse:

“Must obey the leader

With closed eyes, ears,

And ankles in shackles.” 

On roads, our slogans

Were bullets from hearts,

Shouted with our fists high.

Like snakes and reptiles

We crept, went forward,

By mistake said yes to

An old, exiled mullah…

Met a man, elderly,

Quiet and polite.

To me, he was Khayyam

Lit the torch in the dark:

“Great is boiling pot

And smells very nice

Till removed is its lid.” 

The news explains:

“Alone, on the veranda.”

Possibly, praised God

Of his faith, his Allah,

Grateful for his life.

Far away, very far,

A person flew a drone. 

And Biden, President,

Did the same as Trump:

“Killing is justified!”

Study the history

Of the US armies

Reminds me of school.

The page of a textbook

Had a poem in Farsi,

It spoke of Jesus…

He observed a murder,

Kept biting his finger,

Politely, he questioned

The fallen, recent dead:

“Why committed murder?” 

We listened to the teacher

Recited that poem.

The poem was our lesson:

“The crimes are like chains, 

Murderers are murdered!”

Hiroshima, Korea,

Vietnam, Cuba,

Then Afghan to Iraq!

U. S. A. kills worldwide

I question Jesus-like??? 

All three are comets,

Respected as God sent…

Inti and Manitou, are Allah

But varied are the tongues. 

They, all, mean the builder,

First maker, Creator…

All three, do somehow

Talk about mankind’s thoughts.

Right from being born

Until leaving this world

Eagerly we question,

Hoping to find an answer!

Comets of the skies

Have a lot to tell us:

“Study, open minds.”

We, dream, want to know

Intihuatana, Manitou Asinîy,  

Black Stone is Kaaba 

To help know how and why.

I was born, raised Muslim,

Dad and I were friends,

His single request:

“Go for the pilgrimage.”

I loved dad and miss him,

With his death, am happy,

Now, can ignore Hejaz

And Adam-Eve altar.

Black Stone, all comets

Arrived hot and bright, 

Lost the heat to the time, 

Changed color chemicals,

Not sins that mullah saya.

Many of those my age

Sit back, lean, and lecture:

“I have seen, know better.”

I remain a student

Listen to my teachers

Their claim is simple:

“Vary age and knowledge.”

Thanks to their experience:

“Even donkeys, camels,

If walking the same trails,

Recognize, rough, softness.”

Question them about flights

Using wings, and or glides:

“Did you use a bird’s eye?

Did you look at every side?”

Most of them were stuck!

With fuzzy and white hair

They sit and rock the chair 

Aimlessly, roaming around 

Like the wind in mountains,

Keep whining, exclaims…

I look at heights, crests,

And see most governments

Corrupted with stench…!

Ukraine is in the blood

To ensure selling arms

And Putin, and Beijing

Fan the fires, egoists!

On a tree by the pond,

I see deer mesmerized.

It fears the crocodile

But hunts it jaguar.

Yes, I know the hunger

And know of children

And bread and butter.

I know well

I know well

I know well

I, also, know smiths

And metals, and cooper.

Know about the horseshoe

And sabers and daggers

As well as guns, gunners,

And drones, air fighters…

Luck is with unaware

Ignorant has bliss…

You go, work every day

To get rid of hunger,

Must feed your children.

But have you, 

Ever looked?

At your work and others?

What purpose has the nail?

What comes of the horseshoe?

What targets have bombers?

Well, they kill,

Shed blood,

Runs blood

Like water…

Harvests are

Hate, murder,

Hate, murder,

Are harvests!

There are words

That I hate…

Or dislike…

Distance them!

The worst is:

“Trespass!”

What the hell!?

What is this?

On my birth

No one talked

Of borders

Of genders

Of masters

And slaves!

I sure hate the imposed:

“This is mine, that is yours!”

I hate God if he said:

“This is yours, that is theirs!”

Mum was fooled

Took air in

Pushed me out

Came to world

With lies, tales!

Want to leave

On my own

No talk of:

The “Mine, your!”

All are mine

And are yours,

Pee on all the borders

Trespass and genders!

Had heard but after years, 

Finally, I have learned

The Persian proverb:

“The police are able

To catch thieves,

Of the egg, not camel!”

Ebi, my late friend

Think of you with beer

In frozen glass…

Remember the Folsom,

In that shop with pizza

We drank cold beer

In frozen glass…

Remember Lake Tahoe

We swam full naked.

Oh, those days

Oh, those days

With you, now, out of sight

With you, dead, I alone,

Sorry if made mistake,

The mullahs’ murderers’

Bullet went in your head,

In my palm your bran…

Recall the late sixties,

The early seventies

And behaving Hippy,

Opposing Vietnam’s

Washington-Moscow war, 

I followed Joan Baez, 

And many other songs

Like “Give me F, U…K,

And what is the spell?”

To those songs, I listen

But alone, 

Feel the absence

Of the good old friends.

Hitchhiking was normal,

People were very kind, 

Is your world after death

As mean as it is mine?

In less than my fingers 

Will hit the road, travel.  

Plan to go around, 

On the road to see towns.  

Dislike the GPS 

Follow the nose, nature.  

Want to be lost again 

Love being a child again.  

Rendezvoused with a road, 

Crossed legs, we spoke: 

“Let it be like before.”  

We adored dirt and mud: 

“Be natural, not asphalt 

As it was in terrains…”  

I pictured the trees 

Saw a few birds nesting, 

To lay eggs, to have chicks.  

Have never liked cities 

Not the malls and shopping.  

In the bed, I prayed 

And crossed my fingers 

To see bears face to face 

And to meet coyotes.  

Prefer wilderness 

And the roar of cougar.  

Guess that we, children 

That grew in the village  

Were freer, luckier,  

Eagles were our teachers 

As were insects, beetles, 

One taught math, another…  

Do not know about why  

Nor do know of the how.  

Was sitting over there  

Leaning at the cement 

Wall of the single cell.  

I, still, remember 

Motions of my brain, 

Recall that with shivers.  

Forcefully, was confined,  

Solitary, underground…   

Set hands, head on my chest 

Buddha-like, I sat there,  

Like in a yoga class.  

Closed eyes  

Let time pass, 

But how long?  

Under my skull’s bones  

Felt my brain became a web, 

The web of spiders 

On a thin branch, in the rain.  

Then and there, remembered 

That woman when answered.  

In a lone cell, could picture  

Handcuffs on me and her 

In the Evin prison, 

Did she wear blinds too?  

I heard all the questions 

From an interrogator.  

Fell in love with the answers: 

“I followed my husband!”  

She was too clever, 

Obviously brave.  

“As a wife did the must 

According to Islam, 

I listened, and obeyed…”  

I felt that the man who 

Ran the show, in his heart 

Wished to have such a wife.  

But to her this man was 

No more than a bore, wild, 

Or a slave, hunting dog.  

The court man was angered 

Raised his voice and shouted.  

Silent and against the wall 

I listened, boiled inside.  

Wished to see their faces, 

Both the man and woman 

Of the game, justice play.  

She knew what happened 

To her love, her husband, 

He was killed by a bullet 

Of the mean government.  

The two were team members, 

She chose to put the blames 

On the deceased, hero, brave.  

Now, away, refuged,   

I hear of the changes!  

For running their circus, 

New songs are written  

For the school children, 

I recall our trip to Sochi, 

Brezhnev-Shah meeting: 

“Yes, to the commander,” 

Imagine Moon, Sunlight, 

Then, kids and grown-ups.  

Think of a topless woman 

Appears among males.  

An audience of old age 

And partly youngsters, 

Teenagers to infants…  

Each look is different 

As are in the politics, 

Depends on awareness.   

Recently read about Iran 

making drone Inside Tajikistan.  

Some crawl on the surface 

Marathon on pages 

I remove past years’ veils.   

I flew Hercules 

Once, went to Lesotho, 

Nairobi and Cairo.  

Then, Iran did the same  

Together with the US, 

And NATO alliance.  

Neither a topless woman  

In the Cannes, Montreal, 

Nor the reports on Iran,  

To me, are new or strange.   

What they want is simple, 

They shout for attention 

To what is important 

To them and their circle, 

As correct or righteous,   

They spew their inners!  

Sadly, then I was there, 

He brought his prey.  

Proudly, stood there 

Near the exact same 

Gun that our people 

Praised it as sacred.  

Having been children

My parents remembered

That a hunter scared 

The bandits and looters.  

Had climbed the hillside 

All the way to the top 

And had aimed at party 

Of the thieves and bandits.  

Accurately shot the pot  

Boiling with lamb inside.  

Guns’ power Corrupted,  

Therefore, this hunter  

Was no more for people,   

This virus was a microbe.   

There, stood, proudly, 

A cheetah he had killed.  

And I saw the poor thing,  

Saw a corpse unskinned, 

The skin was hay-filled…  

Emptied are mountains 

Of cheetah that is rare!  

In search, I traced them, 

Felt happy when I heard  

In the zoo, in some cage 

One female had triplets,  

But abandoned infants!  

I, the boy from the village, 

See me as some kernel, 

On the farm of wheat-hay  

In the heat of summer.  

I notice the partridges, 

They fly, run, escape.  

Close are the farmers 

Everyone has a sickle.  

I observe the donkeys 

Coming in caravans, 

Carrying load saddles.  

Mule pulls the blades, 

Parallels, circular, 

Sharp as if a razor blade 

For shaving the straws, 

Turning them to thin hay.   

Holding a bridle, a driver  

Sound as if singing a song 

To the mule in the blind.  

Few men with the rakes 

Pull and shift the stacks,  

Flatten to pave the way 

For very sharp blades 

To crush like a hammer.  

Little me, now orphaned 

Hug friends, embrace 

My cousins, poor kernels.  

We end up in the bags,  

Woven by men, women  

And head for the storage, 

Or silo, for winter, 

Then milled to flour, 

For the bakers, bread. 

Glued are my thumb and index 

Thanks to the concrete of a pen.  

The pen is not a bridge, 

As was meant to be.  

The tongue cannot be connected 

To my heart, mind, and feelings.  

Lean back, hope that memories 

Vanish as do the fog in the sun.  

They do not, 

They roam, 

Make a halo!  

On the altar of 

Nothingness 

Beg the mouse. 

 That too is powerless 

As is the keyboard…  

Something must be wrong, 

I am sure…have no doubt!  

Keep questioning, 

Music is on, 

The man sings, 

I listen to the lyrics: 

“Search Inside the empty bowl, 

Memories are remnants of the actions Hidden in the cave of the silence…”  

Is that me? 

Am I that?  

Yes, maybe, 

Not so sure, 

“Act on it,” 

Is whispered.

Fanatics? Dictators?  

Neither see nor figure  

The laws on abortion  

In the United States!!!   

I recall my boyhood, 

Daddy was the trainer: 

“Be a man with respect.”   

Insisted on working,  

Also, took me shopping.    

In return he gave me 

Few things to carry.  

Smiled and looked at me: 

“A great man, you will be.”   

With pride I handled 

Part of what he purchased 

All the way to mother.  

Can picture parents’ love,  

It shined like rays of the sun 

Full of warmth, was bright.  

We hardly misbehaved,

Acted bad, improper, 

Since mother threatened: 

“I will tell your father!”  

And daddy always said: 

“Don’t ever come near 

If you hurt your mother!”   

I was taught and trained 

That man is some friend, 

He respects both parents, 

He supports his sisters 

Cause they are equals. 

Stood, watched flowers 

Dead, fallen on bushes, 

And the tree branches…  

Carcasses on canvas 

Were painted in colors.  

Deeply wished one casket, 

To look, be, exact same.  

Dreamed that I was dead, 

My petals carpeted  

The face of a pavement.  

On me walked the angels, 

Guests from the heavens. 

Chicken can be chicken 

If ever breaks the shell   

To hatch and breathe air 

From the atmosphere…  

Did you get the message?  

Depart the comfort zone 

And mingle with others,  

Enjoy being the particle. 

                        Vinieron. ellos tenían la Biblia

                         y nosotros la tierra

                        y dijeron: cierren los ojos  

               y re[c]en y cuando abrimos los ojos, 

                          ellos tenían la tierra

                           y nosotros la puta Biblia!    

             Graffiti, seen in Costa Rica Oct. 2006,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Today, I read two articles, 

The CBCs, and Julia Roth’s.  

West in a perilous world,  

And colonialism in the Occident.  

I kept laughing 

When encountered: 

“Canada and the USA 

Are looking for  

Friendly partners.”  

I felt being a buffalo corpse,  

Skinned and abandoned, 

In the prairies, in the desert.  

“Here I am…”  

I said, very loud, and clear: 

“It is me that you are looking for, 

Look at me, I, your old victim!”  

I added: 

“You taught your children 

That I am of no use 

And replaced me with the cattle.”  

“We had our ways, were prosperous,  

But you called us Barbarians, 

And butchered us to extinction…”  

“Here I am…”  

I said this very loud, and clear: 

“It is me that you are looking for.”  

And wonder if the blind can hear!   

 He, a sort of friend 

Asked me for a favor: 

“Go, visit my ex-girl.”  

They had met in Khojand 

Then became worlds apart.  

He went back to Tehran, 

She returned to Kazan.  

We had met in Khojand 

City of old Persia, 

That is now Tajikistan, 

Central Asia…  

The why of being there 

Is a tale by itself.   

He wanted stones, rocks 

And I read between the lines.   

He, Michal Angelo 

I, Khayyam, vase, and wine.  

I read books, noting down 

The heroes, their rise, fall.  

He went back to Iran, 

I headed for Russia.  

He had found a girlfriend 

With the blood of Tatar.  

I found that the past wealth 

Showed rulers causing pain.  

Having left the mullahs 

In Iran, and Afghans 

I had a long beard 

Decided not to shave 

Till I am out of there.  

Did not know its dangers 

Though warned me a leader.  

Rahmonov, communist 

Won his seat with tricks!  

He shook hands with Noori 

Then opened gates of jails 

And freed the criminals!  

The latter attacked, robbed 

And marched with slogans.  

Kremlin of Moscow 

Sent support for Rahman: 

“Tighten the noose around  

The necks of the liberals.”  

I swam in the depths 

To find the well trained, 

He spent time with a girl, 

She, Tatar, was a trickster.  

Months after we had left  

He called with a request: 

“Can you go to Kazan?”  

His ex-girl had written 

Of having given birth 

To a son, they had made.  

I hurried, bought a ticket,  

Got me a seat on the train.  

With me was Irina,  

Aware of that area.   

Changed train in Moscow 

And headed for Kazan…  

Being an extrovert,  

I joined a team of men.    

Lovely are the Russians 

While drinking vodka.  

Look at this proverb, 

Explains their culture: 

“There is no ugly girl, 

Vodka bears the blame, 

Not enough, it is little!”   

The team was a mixture 

Of the old and younger 

Men from everywhere.  

One marine officer 

Talked about soviets 

In times of presidents  

Before the Gorbachev: 

“We went to the USA!”  

Retired officer 

Hated the president: 

“This chicken is a shame.”  

Soon there was a chorus 

Made from the soldiers, 

They missed old Soviets.  

Saw Putin as chicken 

And as mole, tumor!  

They adored Stalin, 

Khrushchev, Brezhnev, 

Saw Putin, instead, 

As a hated worthless.  

We made it to Kazan, 

Half sober, half-drunk, 

In the city went around.  

Used bullets on the water, 

Went and house of the girl 

And asked her to see the son. 

What we heard from her 

Was nothing but fictions.  

She told us of the boy 

Having gone to school.  

I told her how I would 

Support the little kid 

If he comes, I can see.  

With her words entangled, 

Irina, my guide girl 

Looked at her with anger.  

Now, after twenty years 

And the war in Ukraine 

I picture the gone days, 

Of Kazan and the train.  

Yes, Putin is too mean, 

But for reasons I see, 

He became what he is, 

The source of bloodshed 

And a criminal, murderer!   

Politicians, media, 

Are either dumb or lie 

To grow hate in us.  

Sure, Putin is Evil 

With Biden as a twin.  

Joe planned and tried  

To regain position  

Of the NATO leader 

To add to the arms sales.  

Open books of exports 

Managed by Washington 

Mulled by the Pentagon.  

Find leeches, vampire!!! 

Of course, have encountered 

Women and abortion.  

Memories are piled 

As high as a mountain.  

The first that started 

Was about Fatima.  

I, a child in the village 

Heard from my mother 

Surely, was less than six. 

“Her uncle had a guest 

She went in with a tray,” 

It is my mom’s whisper.  

Backbiting in secret 

Is disease, everywhere.  

Was she right, I wonder!  

Fatima could somehow 

Be related to us.   

One of Dad’s cousins, 

Was the closest to him.  

That cousin had married 

Mother of Fatima, 

And later? 

I know not, nor questioned!  

Fatima was impaired, 

Was huge in the middle, 

Could have had tumors!  

I, a child with manners 

Had to be obedient 

And listen to the elders: 

“A good child is ears.”   

She had been pregnant 

But, impaired, had never 

Learned or talked about it!  

In the room, with a tray, 

Recall what mother said: 

“Delivered with no pain.”  

Was she the rape victim? 

By mullah of the village?  

I feel like, after years 

See mullahs as devils.  

Mean is religious,  

Judaists, Christians, 

To Hindus and Muslims, 

And almost all the others!  

But simple, innocent, 

A victim of the rape,  

Was seen as the devil, 

By the men in Masjed.   

It could be different 

If we were free, fair, 

Genders were equal.  

A fetus in the current 

Was the next abortion 

For my eyes to observe.  

The baby was perfect, 

I saw, was entangled,   

Floated in the water!  

I, was young, under ten, 

Found the scene, strange, 

And was full of questions:  

“Why thrown as garbage?  

Why was it unwanted?  

From rape? An incest?”    

When thirteen or fourteen 

I worked in a pharmacy.  

Women came secretly 

Asking boss to help in 

Their crime, aborting!  

And I learned a lot then 

Injections, among them,  

In arms, butts, and veins.  

I look back, after years, 

See embers and fires, 

And laugh at corruption.  

Let people be free 

And support the logic.  

Let us go, out and shout 

At lawyers, all judges, 

They make the criminals 

From the poor, backward.  

Who are they?  

You may ask…  

Sit, relax, I tell you: 

“Those without food, school 

And without a home and roof, 

And without parenthood…”  

You, in the courts, houses, 

Are governing agents, 

You who write laws-orders 

Are deaf-dumb to the pains.  

We, the normal people,  

Go to work, each morning,  

In your shops, companies, 

We add to your money 

And you use the job’s knife 

To murder, butcher us.  

Yes, please stop the 

Ignorant law setting 

With greed, cruelty, 

Put end to demanding: 

“Follow laws blindly 

For fetus in the belly!”  

See us as the soldiers 

In shooting the friend 

Or an injured comrade 

To save him from pain.  

We who were your slaves 

Have seen, or experienced 

How you use legal terms,  

Or the chains of experts.   

Your laws work as bullets 

Handicap the nation.  

Yes, we care for the fetus, 

And love them no question.  

We know of bars, cages 

Of the hardship, burden, 

So, use the abortion  

For saving fetuses.  

Knowing you, your cages 

And your law enforcement.  

With deep love, devotion 

We hear our conscious 

To fight the law-setters, 

These meanest vampires: 

"Save them by abortion.”  

Enough is fooling us 

Using Jesus, churches,  

Or Moses, or Masjed, 

Hit the road, go away 

To get lost, no return.

Once again, after years 

I shared life with my Ex.  

In the dream, all the same, 

She was just a mother 

And mastered the kitchen.  

To her, books, decisions, 

Were left to the husband.  

Came to me, complained 

About our good daughter.  

“I fear for her health,  

Is a machine without rest,  

For helping the orphans.”  

I chose a Persian name,  

That lovely wife of then.  

Liked, agreed, accepted: 

“The Unique, Special.”   

I, father, with daughter, 

Sat, spoke in detail.  

I agreed with her deeds 

And gave her promise: 

“Count on me to the end.”  

In silence, she auctioned  

The antiques and items 

To raise funds, give away.   

She asked me if I could 

Visit the mosques, churches,  

Their Imams, preachers, prayers.  

In the final moments, 

Whispered in my ear: 

“They are houses for God,  

Must be clean, in and out.” 

When dead are you and me  

The room is full of “We.”   

She can cover, include 

All pebbles on the hills 

And the rocks of cliffs 

Of ravines and valleys.  

“We” will be Moby Dick  

And mountains, and trees,  

And the Moons, galaxies.   

“We” will be the giraffe, 

Camelidae, and zebras.  

We will be elephants 

And edges of deserts 

Or the fords in rivers 

Or the path in a cave.  

Let the “We” be chickens 

And eagles, bats, pigeons, 

To peacocks, foxes, jackals.  

Let the “We” grow tall 

And cross the skies, 

To mother a moon, Sun.  

In the “We” must exist 

Mixing wild, domestic.  

Allow her majesty 

To be the king and Queen  

For homeless, poor, and rich.   

Let her be the hybrid 

Of deer, goats, and sheep.   

Let us welcome the “We’ 

That will be if you, me, 

Kill ego in ourselves. 

 Feed the Wolf or a Bear,  

By mixing Vodka, beer 

To make them obnoxious, 

Then arrest and cage them.  

And kill their freedom…  

Choose the same prophet 

The mean and dictators.  

Of Europe’s bedridden 

Or the priests, and pirates, 

Atlantic keeps secrets.  

Poisonous, together,   

Made shadow of a snake  

In the Bible, Eve, Adam, 

 And raised a false claim: 

“A Land is discovered.”   

In the nests of condors   

Multiplied Caucasians   

By using bullets, guns,   

And killing the Incas!   

Used the Bible as a ladder,   

With Mezon for the Devil: 

“They are a lower race!”   

In the books of Europe 

Appear the Pentagon’s:  

“Scatter wrong rumors 

To grab, choke, murder!”  

McCarthy’s example  

Attacks the Soviets 

As a beast or the Bear  

With claws, fang to tear.   

Earn from the arms sale.  

Earn from the arms sale.  

Earn from the arms sale. 

Born and raised in Iran 

Joined the Sufi, later 

Fell in love with people.  

My mentor, Maulana 

Or Rumi, for outside.  

I witnessed from depths, 

Arms dealing business.  

Rose against warmongers  

And opposed all weapons 

Both Russian and Western.  

I could not like Saddam, 

Nor Mullahs, nor Reagan, 

My feelings went viral 

And made me leave Iran.  

An officer I had been 

In Air Force and Army 

Knew the guns and bombs  

That purchased Iran’s Shah.  

Mostly, arms suppliers  

Were U.K., USA,  

If not them, their friends.  

Those Yankees in Kiev 

To Ukraine want to sell.  

The talk’s core is to fight,  

Not on the peaceful life.  

Thanks to the Pentagon  

Billions of Dollars,   

Is headed for Ukraine,  

Not to heal the injured 

But for more bloodshed,  

The arms and armaments 

Help to kill, be murdered! 

She sat and the barber 

Started cutting hair… 

Soon after, as always, 

Began norm, 

Backbiting and whisper!  

Centered on wives, husbands, 

Meeting of boys with girls,  

Gatherings on said dates, 

Drinking, hangovers…   

“Such a man!” 

“Such a girl!”  

Suddenly changed subject  

As if fell tent’s column  

That covered every guest.   

They honed on the garden 

With the known gardener: 

“He and you do the same,” 

Mentioned the customer.  

“We, barbers, and farmers  

Are same as the gardeners 

Make and are designers!” 

Emphasized the barber.  

 “But poor are your victims,” 

Mentioned whining woman.  

“Our victims?” 

Surprised, asked master. 

 “The flowers, and my hair  

That you cut like garbage!”  

Overheard all clients 

Gazing into the mirror 

To see their behaviors. 

Prepared birdhouses, 

Nailed them to branches  

Of the tree, near the fence.  

Happily, poured the seeds  

On the ground, in feeders.  

For taking good photos  

I chose the right lenses,  

The tripod and a shutter.   

Followed the proverb: 

“Two birds with a stone.”  

In the morning went to work, 

Late in the day, returned home.  

Everything was mangled, 

Trees cut and fallen,  

Scattered the birdhouses.  

Keep thinking of my birds, 

Have they found a place? 

Did they join the homeless?  

Do not see them jumping 

Off branch to pick seeds!  

Where can be my lovers? 

Dream of them singing!  

Did they find somewhere else? 

Or did they join the homeless?  

Feel being Romeo 

Without my Juliet!  

I am deeply concerned, 

I am deeply concerned, 

Am mourning in anger, 

Am mourning in anger! 

Poet is an artist, a writer, 

Takes the fact; enlarges.  

I, too, got a degree 

In York U, Toronto, 

Of the Stong College, 

To be a Creative Writer.  

Can never sit idle, 

Go around to observe 

And note them on paper, 

Then manage my garden.  

Blackberry, in New West,  

On the stone was written 

Louise, a heart was painted, 

And the paragraph had a date.  

Mother Mary stood there 

Holding lamb on her chest.  

With those signs,  

I drew sketches  

And became an artist 

To go and perfect them.  

Was sure that a mother 

Had suffered abortion 

And buried her infant…  

Went to jungles, buildings, 

Checked house of elderlies.  

Found the Lady-Doris  

After my long research.

She had made a garden, 

With pieces of timber, 

Then, later, planted  

Appletree to grow  

On cremated ashes! 

 Read the Koran, Bible, 

Both New, and Ancient, 

Abrahamic Religions,

 Judaists and Muslims 

All sharing one founder.  

With him came religions 

To hammer poor women.  

His world is just for men 

To shepherd herds, women!  

For many, many years 

Concubines had to serve 

Paying a debt from shame.  

Blamed were the women 

For the wrong of Adam!   

No effort, nor justice  

To seek cause or reason!   

Aaron’s son, descendants, 

The priests and teachers,  

Fooled women, repeated: 

“Galaxies and mountains, 

To Sun, Moon, and rivers, 

See the shame of females!”  

Recall when the women 

Were shattered, broken, 

Were devoted, prayed, 

Asking for forgiveness!  

 United, roared women  

Till as dead lost power 

Patriarchs in churches.   

Be brave, confident,  

Go around like deer, 

Yet remain lionesses.  

Driving on highway 

I heard Tomson Highway!  

An artist, and writer, 

Piano player, 

Sounded like a joker!  

As the wind underwing 

Flew and followed him.  

I lent him eyes, ears, 

Was careful to listen.  

He mentioned the Greeks 

Theology and their Myths: 

“Wonder why God is he!”  

Said that God of here: 

“The great superpower, 

Is female, The Nature.”  

Theology, as he said 

Is divine, explains 

God and its relations.  

Myth as he explained 

Is of God and people.  

To him, faith, any kind 

Is a myth to have fun. 

I was born in Iran

  You can read or stop.  

In the army had a job 

But was not satisfied.  

By changing uniforms 

I worked in the Air Force.  

Being born in the village 

Meant living as a shepherd.  

Or could have farmer’s life, 

It was changed, due to the time.   

Poverty and pride 

Led me to risk my life.  

I borrowed books that read 

And worked hard, no secret.  

Did not follow parents, 

Loving them was endless.  

To me they were simple 

Religious, and Muslims.  

I selected friends 

Of many varied faiths.  

Saw movies of all kinds Hindi, 

Rock, to River Kwai.   

For each book and movie 

I found some company.  

Each of them had a thought

 I listened, then shared mine.  

They, to me, were candles,  

Like torches lit the tunnels.   

My friends were teachers 

And we had shared teachers.  

After ended schools  

Everyone went his way.  

I wished to join college 

To add to my knowledge.  

No support, money rare, 

Wished was in fifth grade 

When she, master, teacher 

Took my hand, what a help.  

She chose this village boy  

And favored, as her own.  

When schools were over  

Found no guide, supporter  

Like that in the fifth grade,  

Felt as if was orphaned.  

Had money, just little 

To attend a single term, 

Paid the fee, prepared 

To take the college test.  

Went broke, moneyless 

To afford the next term.  

Through films, stories 

Had observed and noticed 

How spies and the police 

Forged papers and writings.  

I took some potato  

Made a stamp with a half 

For forging a card to pass, 

Feel the guilt’s sediment.  

Saw how poor, handicapped, 

Is forced to become wax.   

There, heard of a college: 

“Is free, they will pay…”  

I found their location, 

Was misled, misguided, 

Told me lies as answers.  

Had success with the test,  

In no time, I joined them 

And became a cadet.  

Now was in uniform, 

In Military College 

To become an officer.  

Said nothing to parents, 

Unaware, knowledgeless 

Could not be consultants.  

Soon after felt was jailed, 

Pretenders were masons, 

Their bricks were liars!  

Said Commander, Major, 

No permit to leave them, 

He frowned, threatened: 

“First you must pay the debt, 

And then be sent to the jail, 

After that become a soldier 

To serve a forced two years,” 

And went on, on and on. 

In fear, I became 

Some clay for a potter.  

Unwilling, unwanted 

I had to stay there.  

Meant to leave, run away, 

Hitting roads and channels.  

Had lost me to myself, 

Wore clothes of soldiers.  

Felt very sad, in chains  

Till arrived miracles.  

Came pilots on the stage 

And spoke of success.  

We, all, were invited, 

The hosts were lecturers: 

“You can be like ourselves.”  

It served me to escape 

The house of corruption.  

There the guns sat on the rack 

While cheaters gave commands.  

Once came down with a rappel, 

Shah saw me and questioned: 

“Did you tell their parents?”  

“Of course, your Majesty, 

Parents watch their TVs,” 

Wanted to inform shah: 

“No, no, no, he tells lies!”  

My parents were Muslims, 

TV meant gate to hell…”  

Passing tests, joined Airforce 

Wore blue uniforms.  

One day and after years 

Talked to me, my father: 

“Saw a change in color.”  

Had noticed by sudden 

Uniforms changed color.  

He was the best father 

Free, open-minded, 

Never asked of reason 

Or of what had happened.     

Poverty and efforts 

As well as varied friends 

Impacted with influence 

To make me different 

From rest, brothers.  

They were far closer 

To Islam of parents, 

But I seemed a pagan.   

Moving to the Airforce 

Was a jump to changes 

But still felt in chains.  

Having need for income 

Was a cause to work hard, 

Among things I had done 

Was selling some booklet.  

The course “Step by step”  

Helped to learn English, 

I sold to earn money  

And read it freely.  

I was called to speak 

And the booklet helped me.  

Took test of English, 

I passed it, was easy. 

 Destined for the USA  

Rome, Montreal, and later 

Headed for New York,  

San Anton of Texas…   

In Lackland took courses  

Also, found some friends  

Learned to talk English.  

Like clay and the wax 

In the palms of artists, 

Learned about politics.  

Like the air in a balloon, 

Squeezed, I felt pushed!  

Decrees were clear:  

“Officers must listen  

And obey the orders.”  

That was not, is not me! 

That was not, is not me! 

That was not, is not me!  

I needed freedom 

And for it had to burst.  

Could not be a dumb, deaf 

To the needs of people 

Could not kill and murder.  

That was not, is not me! 

That was not, is not me! 

That was not, is not me!  

High rankers around Shah 

Never learned of our hearts, 

Poor Shah counted on us...   

No one said these people 

Are gathered by mistake 

Or are forced and afraid!   

They saw us as the dolls 

And blind horses, cows,  

To fetch like hunter dog.  

Shah counted on planes 

And the tanks, frigates.  

Khamenei and friends, 

Sepah is, can be same!  

Nation needs freedom 

Not a mass of soldiers. 

 He, a first lieutenant, 

Was ranked, an officer.  

Early in the morning 

Practiced the routine   

Of waking and shaving,

 Got ready for leaving.  

Kissed his wife, departed, 

She saw his goodbye wave.   

Was sure that at the gate 

Would encounter soldier.  

And he was surprised 

Nothing was as it was.  

The soldier over there 

Sat still, motionless, 

As idle as idols.  

Lieutenant called sergeant 

To talk of disrespect 

That sergeant did not care.  

Surprised of changes 

Went to the commander.  

A coup had happened, 

The lower decided 

Not to bow to higher.  

Look at the life, these days 

That oppressed is aware 

Of the men and women 

Of any land, culture 

Are the same, equal.  

Open eyes and stand 

To oppose dictators, 

If leach or vampire. 

Sun was out 

Stones shined 

Tina bent 

She took one: 

“Contains gold.”  

“Give it to Ilya, 

Geologist knows it all,” 

I said to withdraw.  

“Is pyrite…” 

Said in a short answer, 

And later explained: 

“Gold is heavy and  

Pyrites are very light.”  

Unaware, dumbfounded, 

I lent them eyes, ears.  

Andy, a photographer  

Knew all, was aware.   

Tina who started 

Threw a few words 

All garble and nonsense.   

Andy talked once again, 

We and rocks were compared: 

“These stones and ourselves 

Will soon be particles.”  

Later, in private 

With a smile, Andy said: 

“The Fools call Pyrite, Gold.”  

I enjoyed his comment,  

Poetic, and great, 

Landed in my ears, 

It sounds like a choir,  

A canary, nightingale: 

“Remember particles.”  

 Was a first-year cadet, 

We drilled in action.  

Were briefed of ground, 

Obstacles, and attacks.  

Enemy had come and 

Plan was resistance 

Till arrived our support.  

I became team’s scout, 

Had to run in secret, 

Check, report the front.  

Left and right, I zigzagged 

To some hill in distance.  

Threw me to one side, 

It was hard as if rock.  

Felt the pain in my chest 

And flew my helmet…  

Looking back at that year

 I smile at myself…  

Laugh at me like joker 

That cared, was devoted. 

Near farms, I stand 

A paddle in my hand.  

Look around and observe 

Animals and farmers.  

Wonder what I would say 

If was sheep or cattle.  

What if was kept in cage,  

Carried by tractor?  

What if mad driver 

Took me to a butcher?  

Drowned in my thoughts, 

I  Forget all about job!  

Do not like to serve men, 

Mankind is brutal!  

Kills nature, animals, 

As fungus and a wild.  

Steps on Natives’ neck 

As savage and pagan.  

Prefer to get lost  

Or depart, go to hide. 

 I, a veteran, in the dictionaries, 

Have been in three wars, at least, 

Have carried soldiers and logistics, 

Took alive and fresh, though worried,

And brought back dead and injured,

 In the bags, caskets, on the stretchers.  

I have seen those who lost eyes, hands, 

Feet, legs, parts of face, and far beyond.  

I have seen the waiting finances losing hope, Have seen wives leaving the injured to help 

Other patients, more injured, sympathy?  

No, I do not say that I have seen it all, 

But have seen enough of civilians caught Between the guns and gunners, fallen 

By the stray bullets of non-professionals 

Or impatient, tired, careless professionals.  

Now, want to blow all the air in my lungs 

To shout: “Veteran is the ugliest word ever!”  

Kill me and turn me to ashes, 

Compost me and mix with manure  

But do not call me a veteran.  

Veterans are greyhounds of the 

Meanest creatures with claims 

Of being good, but evil, devil,  

The politicians, warmongers…  

The victims’ list is too long… 

I suffice with the recent ones, 

Include the Japanese in China, 

Bomb the Vietcong in Vietnam, 

Cruelty of Israelites in Palestine, 

Falkland, Cuba, and Venezuela,  

Then Yemen, Libya, and Syria  

To the burning Sudan, Ethiopia, 

To Iraq, and Iran…now Ukraine! 

Every time I am called 

I recall my ex, wife, 

Her love filled all my heart.  

Nassy is the short form 

To scape Nasrollah.