Signed in as:
filler@godaddy.com
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.
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.
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