Standing by the cooker
Silently I observe,
The clock, its minutes,
Potatoes in the pot
Boil, bubbles…
Then I think of Parvin,
The poet of the kitchen,
The onion and garlic,
And the chickpea, lentil.
Though standing still,
My brain and my heart
Travel all around,
Go very deep in time!
I stand and observe,
Think of the things,
Remember…
Adoption of orphans,
(They were not,)
Papers were telling lies,
To part the mother-child?
The Korean criminals,
United with US, Canada,
The British House Child,
Residential schools,
Latinos, the Philippines,
Afghans in the USSR,
What a crime! Genocide?
And I think of people,
What about my pulled teeth?
Good friends have offered:
“For you, soup of turkey!”
The world looks like oceans,
Like plains and mountains,
Like rivers and deserts…
Good and bad everywhere!
He sent me a message,
Not a page, but pages.
About wars, displaced,
The exiles, immigrants.
Iran was among them,
Arrivals, departures.
The message was in time,
Since I had, encountered,
Syrians, Palestine’s,
Lebanese and Afghans.
One may say they are well,
I do not see the same…
I have had my backpack,
Have followed the tracks,
Exactly as they have,
We crossed the borders…
Yes, to me the borders,
Make us bees and horses,
In the hives, stables…
Keep me out, don’t talk of,
Governments and anthems,
Synagogues and churches,
Even mosques…whatever
Cuts, divides to pieces,
As the bad, good, better!
His message, in a way,
Said a lot and covered,
The abuse of landed,
In new homes, shelters,
Exposing just goodness,
Or feeding by kindness,
But being brainwashed,
By the secret agents!
Nagorno Karabakh,
To me, it's as if I
See myself, my parents,
And ancient ancestors,
Wounded in the mountains,
With nothing, all shattered!
They've left behind everything,
Spending nights and days,
Sowing, growing, harvesting,
They gathered in baskets.
Their possession is a shirt,
On their backs like drapes.
Histories behind them,
Stories behind them,
As well as culture, faith,
The beloved graves,
Also, the wounded, dead,
Lying there in pain, wake.
Nagorno Karabakh,
Ukraine, and Venezuela,
I don't just sympathize,
I am you, I empathize,
With Iraq and Iran,
Khalistan, Libya,
Afghanistan, Assyria,
Battleford, Saskatchewan,
Chaco and Bolivia,
Cholo and Cholita,
Metis in Manitoba!
I don't just sympathize,
I am you, I empathize,
I am you in my heart,
You, Blacks, Africans,
Filipinos, Australians,
I don't just sympathize,
I am you.
"Are you prepared…” Dan inquired,
“To attend the march with us,
To support veterans, our nation's pride?"
Nodded I, walked along...
In view, arrays of,
Armaments displayed,
Bazookas, guns, bullets,
Slogans spread...
Sprawled crowds, dense,
Big and small children,
Paced babies, teenagers,
Among them, displaced...
Diverse were attires,
Head-covers, pant-skirts,
Colorful their garments,
With fathers, no mother...
Their fathers wore beards,
Remnants of their culture,
Something I embraced,
We, trees, displaced...
No toil and adventurous,
Joined the U.S. friends,
Taliban won, unfurled,
Arrests and many deaths…
They fled, uncertain,
To distance scattered,
Left behind no tread,
But a nation in pain…
Kids' bodies are here,
Spirits over there,
Scratched their brains,
What nurtures the future?
Through the countless years now past,
As old age beckons me at last,
A foot resting within the grave's embrace.
I sit as though a child anew,
A mound of earth before my view,
Watch the ants, their path a winding trace.
Unaware, they march and climb,
Unmindful of the future's time,
Little know I, they will sting and bite.
I squat in wonder, deep in thought,
Like a mouse in a maze caught,
Their ceaseless journey, day, and night.
The ants, in their relentless quest,
Transform to men, a strange bequest,
In the grand assembly of the Earth.
I mourn, fatigued, by humankind's deeds,
For too long I've watched their creeds,
Talking peace but sowing seeds of dearth.
I've heard the talk of war's cruel date,
"Is it the Rabbit's?" they debate,
About months, seasons, day, and night.
Their origins, a mystery profound,
Some seek answers in the Bible bound,
Others turn to galaxies, shining bright.
Some in the "Big Bang" their faith,
Or "In Six Days," a different wraith,
In the struggle of belief, they fight.
Confusion reigns as I sit here,
Observing like a child, unclear
Is this a comedy or science's birth?
Which is the truth, I can't decide,
Lunar or Solar, they all confide,
Proclaiming, "God is on our side!"
"God saved Noah from the flood,"
But sent destruction like a raging mud,
Their image of God, it seems, is wild.
And once again, just like a child,
I watch the mound, so meek and mild,
Seeing ants ascend in a single file.
I close my eyes, then open wide,
Witness the truth they try to hide,
See the ants as humankind's guile.
Upon the stage, the puppets play,
But who controls this grand array?
Is the show flawless? They believe?
Yet on the wall, in shadows cast,
Atlas bears the world steadfast,
I see the director in that conceive.
In my mind's eye, I see the strife,
From Libya's woes to Noah's life,
To/From Nagorno Karabakh's strife,
From Marrakech in Morocco's land,
To bullets, drones, and sinking sand,
Ukraine, Russia, nations at knife,
Children, mothers, husbands, wives,
And the bombers ending lives,
Atoms falling, fate on Hiroshima's,
Hawaii's shores and dinghies bound,
To Greece, they seek safe ground,
In Spain, Italy, a similar weight,
The Rio Grande's treacherous tide,
Where boats capsize, fears collide,
These scenes in my thoughts resonate.
I listen to the radio's news,
"In an hour or two, will arrive soon,
The summer's end, this very year!"
I hear and laugh, the lunacy clear,
In calendars, they bicker, I fear,
But the one in Iran, I hold dear.
With the equinox, the year's first morn,
Spring's arrival, newly born,
Three months of summer's gentle cheer,
Then autumn's hues and winter's snow,
Till equinox, when the seasons flow,
A cycle timeless, year to year.
As I gaze at bees and ants so small,
And witness worms in their quiet crawl,
Hoopoes, robins digging deep and low,
Shoveling earth for worms below,
I continue watching, feeling woe,
For humankind's evils continue to grow.
I hate Ammameh, sheikh,
Not because of the race,
But for the behaviors!
Caused respect for the ones,
Whom we had rejected!
I’ve known her,
For many, many days,
For weeks, months,
Years, decades.
She has been,
My mother,
My sister,
My lover!
No, she is not Sarah,
I am not Abraham.
Neither are we ancient,
The time of siblings,
Marrying each other!
Have known her for too long,
Blossoms in time of the equinox,
A grown-up woman, not some child.
In summer shows her face,
Modest and pregnant.
At autumns,
She is a magician,
A bright scarlet,
Wears a mix of colors,
Displays her nipples,
Milkshake of chocolate,
Reveals chest, and breasts.
Stands, waits for shower,
Strips, undressed…
Have seen her in gardens,
Have seen her in forests,
Have seen her by the rivers,
Mesmerized, I watch her,
The heaven's miracles,
Are the trees; I love them.
Dear Sir, or Madam,
I look for Ezra Pond.
He was a matchmaker,
In Paris of his days.
Matched writers, publishers,
The artists with buyers.
I need him, search for him,
Let me know if find him.
I fear Washington,
May arrest and kill him.
Keep busy writing books,
Around fifteen volumes.
At times write like James Joyce,
Select scenes, juxtapose,
A bandit,
Medicine,
Classroom,
Critics,
And logic.
An old man, a magician
Keeps busy with a rooster,
He plays his flute,
And dances the rooster.
Suddenly, stop, halt,
I return and smile:
“Will be banned?
Or censored?
Or becomes a star?
Platinum? A diamond?”
Soon after, divert thoughts:
“Live today, leave the rest,
For the days after death!”
Today, I, after days,
Maybe weeks, or further,
Cured my consciousness…
On the roadside, a sign said:
“Fresh fruits, jams, and eggs.”
I entered, selected,
Bought one Jar,
A few eggs.
Prices were written,
No person as a cashier,
No witness, just conscious.
My shopping was dozens,
Of small, and larger,
Then dropped the dollars.
When at home, saw boxes,
And noticed, had paid less,
Consciousness was injured.
Felt guilty and cheater,
But today I returned,
Paid balance, recovered.
Which one is the voting,
Is it funny? Or stupid?
Long ago a few ships,
With the crews hungry,
Unaware and in need,
Disembarked British!
The locals, both genders,
Came around, extended,
Kindness with reception.
The local custom said:
“Be nice and generous,
To the incoming guests.”
They did as the law said,
Fed snakes’ descendants,
The poisonous scorpions!
Saving the leech, vampire,
Has been seen as a mistake,
They should be left to face,
Hunger, sickness, or death!
Children of those first
Devoted indigenous,
Suffered, are insulted,
Even now, right today!
But after many years,
The snake, the python,
With ownership claim,
Lies out loud, pretends:
“Want to give freedom,
To the dark indigenous!”
Colonizers, the shameless
Blue-eyed, blonde hair,
Have been, are carriers,
Of the genes of the devil!
Once again is morning,
And I search with yearning!
You don’t know what is like,
To be born in Iran,
Traveled the world around!
Is lovely but is hard!
I recall two sisters,
From the same parents,
Marrying father, son.
What are they?
The in-laws?
Two sisters?
As it was?
Now read of two steps,
Brother and sister,
Proudly making love!
Confused, I feel lost,
In finding the right one,
What is the standard?
Here, in Canada,
Some defend animals,
Mostly, kill, do not want!
Confused, I feel lost,
In finding the right one,
What is the standard?
Politics with borders?
Governments with anthem?
Parents? The children?
Students? Or teachers?
Religions? Or customs?
Which one is the right one?
I’ve known her,
For many, many days,
For weeks, months,
Years, decades.
She has been,
My mother,
My sister,
My lover!
No, she is not Sarah,
I am not Abraham.
Neither are we ancient,
The time of siblings,
Marrying each other!
Have known her for too long,
Blossoms in time of the equinox,
A grown-up woman, not some child.
In summer shows her face,
Modest and pregnant.
At autumns,
She is a magician,
A bright scarlet,
Wears a mix of colors,
Displays her nipples,
Milkshake of chocolate,
Reveals chest, and breasts.
Stands, waits for shower,
Strips, undressed…
Have seen her in gardens,
Have seen her in forests,
Have seen her by the rivers,
Mesmerized, I watch her,
The heaven's miracles,
Are the trees; I love them.
Dear Sir, or Madam,
I look for Ezra Pond.
He was a matchmaker,
In Paris of his days.
Matched writers, publishers,
The artists with buyers.
I need him, search for him,
Let me know if find him.
I fear Washington,
May arrest and kill him.
Keep busy writing books,
Around fifteen volumes.
At times write like James Joyce,
Select scenes, juxtapose,
A bandit,
Medicine,
Classroom,
Critics,
And logic.
An old man, a magician
Keeps busy with a rooster,
He plays his flute,
And dances the rooster.
Suddenly, stop, halt,
I return and smile:
“Will be banned?
Or censored?
Or becomes a star?
Platinum? A diamond?”
Soon after, divert thoughts:
“Live today, leave the rest,
For the days after death!”
Today, I, after days,
Maybe weeks, or further,
Cured my consciousness…
On the roadside, a sign said:
“Fresh fruits, jams, and eggs.”
I entered, selected,
Bought one Jar,
A few eggs.
Prices were written,
No person as a cashier,
No witness, just conscious.
My shopping was dozens,
Of small, and larger,
Then dropped the dollars.
When at home, saw boxes,
And noticed, had paid less,
Consciousness was injured.
Felt guilty and cheater,
But today I returned,
Paid balance, recovered.
Which one is the voting,
Is it funny? Or stupid?
Long ago a few ships,
With the crews hungry,
Unaware and in need,
Disembarked British!
The locals, both genders,
Came around, extended,
Kindness with reception.
The local custom said:
“Be nice and generous,
To the incoming guests.”
They did as the law said,
Fed snakes’ descendants,
The poisonous scorpions!
Saving the leech, vampire,
Has been seen as a mistake,
They should be left to face,
Hunger, sickness, or death!
Children of those first
Devoted indigenous,
Suffered, are insulted,
Even now, right today!
But after many years,
The snake, the python,
With ownership claim,
Lies out loud, pretends:
“Want to give freedom,
To the dark indigenous!”
Colonizers, the shameless
Blue-eyed, blonde hair,
Have been, are carriers,
Of the genes of the devil!
Once again is morning,
And I search with yearning!
You don’t know what is like,
To be born in Iran,
Traveled the world around!
Is lovely but is hard!
I recall two sisters,
From the same parents,
Marrying father, son.
What are they?
The in-laws?
Two sisters?
As it was?
Now read of two steps,
Brother and sister,
Proudly making love!
Confused, I feel lost,
In finding the right one,
What is the standard?
Here, in Canada,
Some defend animals,
Mostly, kill, do not want!
Confused, I feel lost,
In finding the right one,
What is the standard?
Politics with borders?
Governments with anthem?
Parents? The children?
Students? Or teachers?
Religions? Or customs?
Which one is the right one?
I told her that she was amazing,
She mistook, thought of her beauty,
Sexiness, angelic, convincing!
I was right in my way,
Meant to say is a puzzle,
Bipolar, two, diverse!
At times is punctual,
And at times is careless,
Playful, like a wave!
Now, I laugh,
At her and at myself!
Am I right?
Is Amazing, correct?
Long ago,
Wrote to the Clintons,
First to Bill, then his wife.
In my words, I told them:
“You are wrong!”
I opposed giving funds,
The funds for drug fight.
Unaware they were of
The people, area…
And mules and horses,
Domestics animals!
The money, if given,
Millions, of dollars,
Went to the smugglers!
The White House
Is wrong, dumb,
Study Coup d'états
Of Chile, and Iran,
World around,
Among them Libya!
And result?
Escapees on the run
Dingy boats,
They capsize,
Break dams,
Thousands die!
The White House
Has been, is,
Always wrong,
Study Coup d'états,
World around,
And results?!?!?!
I enjoy reading books,
On, about the brooks,
Residents, admirers,
Relatives, partners!
I speak with the fish,
With bushes and trees,
With searchers of haven,
The Indigenous, Indians!
Read reports of the times,
On Savage, by the White!
See the wars, massacres,
Frog Lake and Big Bear,
Cut Knife to Pound-maker,
Almighty’s voice, Bluff,
To rape of white women,
To kidnapped, kidnappers!
All of them in papers
Exaggerate, are larger:
“Be the first to blame,
Fugitive, dangerous!”
In this way has happened,
From past to these days!
Repeated Kissinger:
“Enemy must be made,
Divide, fool, conquer!”
McCarthy and others
Climbed the same ladders!
Read reports of their days,
On Big Bear, Poundmaker,
Then listen to the women,
None ever said was raped!
What about Cavalcante?
Oh, my lord, my goodness,
I think and remember,
Our good days and wonder,
If, you, too, remember!
Remember lovely days,
That we had together,
Danced, flew the plane?
I was part of the crew,
You were our majesty,
Majestic in the cockpit.
We arrived at Kish and,
You were well-respected.
We took a motorbike,
Then, jointly went to ride.
My hands were on the handle,
Your hands locked to my chest.
My back felt your breasts,
And your heart under them.
What a day! What a day!
Did you tell the children,
That we had lovely days?
Sadly, as I have heard,
You never said a word,
Beyond the bitterness!
A landlord commented,
About his poor tenants:
“Squeeze the students,
Juice them like oranges!”
He too is one of them,
One from one percent,
But in the “Sheepskin!”
Somehow, he converted,
His old house to a stable,
Piece by piece he rented!
Two floors and a garage,
With many cameras,
To make sure that is safe.
Soon after we got there,
Appeared like a devil,
Was shaken and afraid.
In us, he could see the,
CRA, or Police officers!
He does not want the law,
Learn about the poor kids,
Living there like sardines!
I foresee the days when,
They’ll employ or work for,
Government, large, small,
Corporates, of some kind!
What can we, should expect?
Will they, too, be cheaters?
I hate this one percent,
They who live like leeches,
Or some bats, vampires,
They kill and slaughter,
Consciousness, the brain!
To see the same item
There can be many ways,
I look at samosa,
To remember Bushehr!
In the south of Iran
People eat samosa,
This food of Indians!
It can be spicy,
Indians say: “Merchi!”
I frown, shed tears,
For the corpses left there!
Indians were soldiers,
They fought for Britain!
Doubt that was optional,
They had been occupied,
Enslaved in a way,
Like Blacks, Africans,
Gladiators for Romans!
Britain came and lost,
Many died in the war!
British demanded:
“Raise the guns and murder,
Men, women, if kid, child!”
Indians killed, were killed,
Abandoned, went Brits,
Escaped to board the ships!
Though they won the second,
Deep in shame, lost the third!
Locals moved the wounded,
And buried all the dead,
Learned to make samosas!
I’ve known her,
For many, many days,
For weeks, months,
Years, decades.
She has been,
My mother,
My sister,
My lover!
No, she is not Sarah,
I am not Abraham.
Neither are we ancient,
The time of siblings,
Marrying each other!
Have known her for too long,
Blossoms in time of the equinox,
A grown-up woman, not some child.
In summer shows her face,
Modest and pregnant.
At autumns,
She is a magician,
A bright scarlet,
Wears a mix of colors,
Displays her nipples,
Milkshake of chocolate,
Reveals chest, and breasts.
Stands, waits for shower,
Strips, undressed…
Have seen her in gardens,
Have seen her in forests,
Have seen her by the rivers,
Mesmerized, I watch her,
The heaven's miracles,
Are the trees; I love them.
Dear Sir, or Madam,
I look for Ezra Pond.
He was a matchmaker,
In Paris of his days.
Matched writers, publishers,
The artists with buyers.
I need him, search for him,
Let me know if find him.
I fear Washington,
May arrest and kill him.
Keep busy writing books,
Around fifteen volumes.
At times write like James Joyce,
Select scenes, juxtapose,
A bandit,
Medicine,
Classroom,
Critics,
And logic.
An old man, a magician
Keeps busy with a rooster,
He plays his flute,
And dances the rooster.
Suddenly, stop, halt,
I return and smile:
“Will be banned?
Or censored?
Or becomes a star?
Platinum? A diamond?”
Soon after, divert thoughts:
“Live today, leave the rest,
For the days after death!”
Today, I, after days,
Maybe weeks, or further,
Cured my consciousness…
On the roadside, a sign said:
“Fresh fruits, jams, and eggs.”
I entered, selected,
Bought one Jar,
A few eggs.
Prices were written,
No person as a cashier,
No witness, just conscious.
My shopping was dozens,
Of small, and larger,
Then dropped the dollars.
When at home, saw boxes,
And noticed, had paid less,
Consciousness was injured.
Felt guilty and cheater,
But today I returned,
Paid balance, recovered.
Which one is the voting,
Is it funny? Or stupid?
Long ago a few ships,
With the crews hungry,
Unaware and in need,
Disembarked British!
The locals, both genders,
Came around, extended,
Kindness with reception.
The local custom said:
“Be nice and generous,
To the incoming guests.”
They did as the law said,
Fed snakes’ descendants,
The poisonous scorpions!
Saving the leech, vampire,
Has been seen as a mistake,
They should be left to face,
Hunger, sickness, or death!
Children of those first
Devoted indigenous,
Suffered, are insulted,
Even now, right today!
But after many years,
The snake, the python,
With ownership claim,
Lies out loud, pretends:
“Want to give freedom,
To the dark indigenous!”
Colonizers, the shameless
Blue-eyed, blonde hair,
Have been, are carriers,
Of the genes of the devil!
Once again is morning,
And I search with yearning!
You don’t know what is like,
To be born in Iran,
Traveled the world around!
Is lovely but is hard!
I recall two sisters,
From the same parents,
Marrying father, son.
What are they?
The in-laws?
Two sisters?
As it was?
Now read of two steps,
Brother and sister,
Proudly making love!
Confused, I feel lost,
In finding the right one,
What is the standard?
Here, in Canada,
Some defend animals,
Mostly, kill, do not want!
Confused, I feel lost,
In finding the right one,
What is the standard?
Politics with borders?
Governments with anthem?
Parents? The children?
Students? Or teachers?
Religions? Or customs?
Which one is the right one?
I told her that she was amazing,
She mistook, thought of her beauty,
Sexiness, angelic, convincing!
I was right in my way,
Meant to say is a puzzle,
Bipolar, two, diverse!
At times is punctual,
And at times is careless,
Playful, like a wave!
Now, I laugh,
At her and at myself!
Am I right?
Is Amazing, correct?
Long ago,
Wrote to the Clintons,
First to Bill, then his wife.
In my words, I told them:
“You are wrong!”
I opposed giving funds,
The funds for drug fight.
Unaware they were of
The people, area…
And mules and horses,
Domestics animals!
The money, if given,
Millions, of dollars,
Went to the smugglers!
The White House
Is wrong, dumb,
Study Coup d'états
Of Chile, and Iran,
World around,
Among them Libya!
And result?
Escapees on the run
Dingy boats,
They capsize,
Break dams,
Thousands die!
The White House
Has been, is,
Always wrong,
Study Coup d'états,
World around,
And results?!?!?!
I enjoy reading books,
On, about the brooks,
Residents, admirers,
Relatives, partners!
I speak with the fish,
With bushes and trees,
With searchers of haven,
The Indigenous, Indians!
Read reports of the times,
On Savage, by the White!
See the wars, massacres,
Frog Lake and Big Bear,
Cut Knife to Pound-maker,
Almighty’s voice, Bluff,
To rape of white women,
To kidnapped, kidnappers!
All of them in papers
Exaggerate, are larger:
“Be the first to blame,
Fugitive, dangerous!”
In this way has happened,
From past to these days!
Repeated Kissinger:
“Enemy must be made,
Divide, fool, conquer!”
McCarthy and others
Climbed the same ladders!
Read reports of their days,
On Big Bear, Poundmaker,
Then listen to the women,
None ever said was raped!
What about Cavalcante?
Oh, my lord, my goodness,
I think and remember,
Our good days and wonder,
If, you, too, remember!
Remember lovely days,
That we had together,
Danced, flew the plane?
I was part of the crew,
You were our majesty,
Majestic in the cockpit.
We arrived at Kish and,
You were well-respected.
We took a motorbike,
Then, jointly went to ride.
My hands were on the handle,
Your hands locked to my chest.
My back felt your breasts,
And your heart under them.
What a day! What a day!
Did you tell the children,
That we had lovely days?
Sadly, as I have heard,
You never said a word,
Beyond the bitterness!
A landlord commented,
About his poor tenants:
“Squeeze the students,
Juice them like oranges!”
He too is one of them,
One from one percent,
But in the “Sheepskin!”
Somehow, he converted,
His old house to a stable,
Piece by piece he rented!
Two floors and a garage,
With many cameras,
To make sure that is safe.
Soon after we got there,
Appeared like a devil,
Was shaken and afraid.
In us, he could see the,
CRA, or Police officers!
He does not want the law,
Learn about the poor kids,
Living there like sardines!
I foresee the days when,
They’ll employ or work for,
Government, large, small,
Corporates, of some kind!
What can we, should expect?
Will they, too, be cheaters?
I hate this one percent,
They who live like leeches,
Or some bats, vampires,
They kill and slaughter,
Consciousness, the brain!
To see the same item
There can be many ways,
I look at samosa,
To remember Bushehr!
In the south of Iran
People eat samosa,
This food of Indians!
It can be spicy,
Indians say: “Merchi!”
I frown, shed tears,
For the corpses left there!
Indians were soldiers,
They fought for Britain!
Doubt that was optional,
They had been occupied,
Enslaved in a way,
Like Blacks, Africans,
Gladiators for Romans!
Britain came and lost,
Many died in the war!
British demanded:
“Raise the guns and murder,
Men, women, if kid, child!”
Indians killed, were killed,
Abandoned, went Brits,
Escaped to board the ships!
Though they won the second,
Deep in shame, lost the third!
Locals moved the wounded,
And buried all the dead,
Learned to make samosas!
I remember that day,
Remember very well.
Saw the people cry…
I did not…
I knew thousands died,
Felt the pain in my heart.
Was searching for killers,
They lived in palaces!
People called them leaders,
Ministers, presidents!
They sold arms, sent soldiers,
With tankers, and bombers!
Why to bomb the homeless?
Is that “Love?” “Freedom?”
I was there on that day,
Saw plumes and observed!
Felt a knife in my heart,
Ran blood to my eyes!
Searched for the criminals,
They were in the White House!
Many dogs in dogs’ world,
Eat the dogs and no more!
I remember that day,
Remember very well.
Saw the people cry…
I did not…
Many dogs in dogs’ world,
Eat the dogs and no more!
Don’t tell me “West made it!”
West damaged, then faked it.
West stole from the past,
Very wise, and smart!
Registered as its own,
With patent and number!
Bravo to the West!
Bravo to the West!
Great are smart thieves,
They deserve to own it!
Machu Picchu to Egypt,
And Persia to Greece,
China, to Prairies,
Existed before West,
West claimed ownership!
Bravo to the West!
Bravo to the West!
Great are smart thieves,
They deserve to own it!
West made steam engines,
Slaves rowed commerce ships,
West claimed ownership!
Bravo to the West!
Bravo to the West!
Great are smart thieves,
They deserve to own it!
Hunted the men, women,
And sold them as slaves,
Parted kids and parents
Claiming: “I own them!”
Bravo to the West!
Bravo to the West!
Smart thief is smart,
They deserve to own it!
Yes, West forced the slaves,
Kill, murder, cultivate…
Then West took the harvest,
Ate, and sold in the market.
Many Western pirates
The sailors, Captains
Were the expert looters,
Of unknown: “Discovered?”
Raise my hat to the West,
The great smart thieves,
They deserve to own it!
London sold and rented,
Sent cargo, gunpowder,
To the royal soldiers,
Divide it between them,
Both winners and losers:
“Replace them if erased.”
Don’t tell me “West made it!”
West damaged, then faked it.
West stole from the past,
Very wise, smart ass!
Registered as its own,
With patent and number!
Bravo to the West!
Bravo to the West!
Great are smart thieves,
They deserve to own it!
Now, listen smart ass,
I stood and clapped,
But will not bow to you,
Did not and will not do…
I would rather be vapored,
In the sun in the desert,
And eaten by the jackals,
Or thrown in the oceans,
Floating on the waves,
Until fully rotten,
Out for good and ever,
Unlived in minds, brains,
To be your admirer!
Don’t tell me “West made it!”
West damaged, then faked it.
West stole from the past,
You a wise smart ass!
You wrote it as your own,
With a patented number!
Bravo to the West!
Bravo to the West!
Great are smart thieves,
They deserve to own it!
I stand to you like,
The lost seed under a rock,
The fish eggs in the heart of,
The mountains of La Paz,
And the old history,
Beneath the Titicaca…
You murder, are killing,
Nature with the industry,
Chemicals, polyethylene,
Pesticides, and concrete,
You are blind, cannot see,
Even your kids’ destiny!
Must be a proverb,
African? Caribbean?
Lincoln, a colleague said,
In his words and his way.
“A man will destroy,
The life with his action,
The woman does the same,
With a word, wrong, chosen!”
Had I not heard them caw,
I would have never thought,
That ravens and the crows
Competed, or had a fight!
I did and looked around,
Saw a raven, three crows,
The latter were afraid,
Prior was large, firm!
Looked at them mesmerized,
Not of shouting crows,
But from the shuttlecock
That raven held by mouth!
Kept thinking about it,
And reasons behind it,
Recalled the memories,
Of Tehran University,
Badminton, Sattari…
Was that a game? Playful?
Wondered how could be used!
As a pillar to build a nest?
Was that theft a mistake?
Feel glued in that moment,
Puzzle and question same:
“Do the Ravens play?
Or was it a wrong theft?”
Why birdie, shuttlecock?
Why did the crows caw?
Want to join a party,
Party of Anarchists,
Possibly in Richmond,
The Richmond in BC,
BC of Canada…
In East-Van and downtown,
Around the HWY one,
Abbotsford to Vernon,
Toronto, New York,
And elsewhere, to Iran!
Homeless are millions,
The rents are very high,
But many houses are,
Empty and belong,
To leeches among us,
“One Percent,” as is called,
The useless, the nonsense!
I drive, go around,
In BC’s most cities,
Chilliwack to Surrey,
Coquitlam to Langley,
New West, and others,
See many of houses,
Empty, abandoned,
Owners are greedy!
Like to be an anarchist,
Not leftist, not rightist,
Just to help the justice,
For the mass and needy.
Wish to make duplicates,
Keys for locks and lockers,
Hand to the poor workers,
Not the panhandlers,
Not the lazy beggars,
Not bishops, ministers,
Not those in government!
Here,
Comes, she again,
The shameless scarlet,
She does so every year!
Strips in public,
Chest forward and proud
Stands there,
Coquettish!
Repeats it in autumn,
One by one, in single,
When arrives the shower,
All at once goes naked!
“Be polite, respectful,”
I told her, insisted,
She behaves like a rock,
Earless, deaf, and dumb!
Enjoys observation,
When fully dress-less,
She exposes herself,
All over, neck to legs!
Never falls, stands there,
All along and always,
Dangerous, fearless,
Is perfect in flirts!
The farms and the gardens
In the fall and autumn,
Have a range of colors,
To welcome the winter.
Autumn
Paints the trees,
Ignores all boundaries,
Soft and calm and sweet
Adds to the spirits,
Scarlet!
The tourists of Death Road,
Speak of Bolivia, of Yagnas,
Reading every detail, I smile!
Check Google,
Read questions,
And Replies…
Nobody looks at depth:
“What is cost?”
“Is it too dangerous?
“And hours? Only bikes?”
“Can I go, I am solo, a woman?”
Why deaf, dumb?
Learn about who built it!
The reason behind it?
The workers, laborers?
Knowledge was a secret,
Was hidden in Churches!
Learning is dangerous,
It deciphers secrets,
It did and does always!
Death Road is art, craft,
Standard’s, Shell’s plan,
For getting oil and gas!
Rockefeller and allies
Helped settle Mennonites,
Guarani was brown,
Some escaped a genocide!
The Green Hell, Chaco,
Was in peace and between,
Bolivia-Paraguay…
Murderers, the Oilmen
Made soldiers road builders!
I was born in a village,
Lived there for a few years,
With our goats and chickens,
Also kept my pigeons…
Around us wilderness,
Nature and Mother Earth,
Gave wealth of freedom…
Mostly, males came to give,
Their semen, depart, leave,
Pigeons were not the same,
Male-female were parents,
Goats and sheep breastfed.
I was a child, too curious,
Looked around and observed,
Kept thinking, and compared:
“Which is the correct way?”
Now, grown, many years,
Among the most traveled,
Find myself in oceans,
Confused, like the waves.
Read news of kidnaps,
By one of the parents!
My brain in its cave:
“Who gets right?
Which justice?
Government?
Or mother?
Or father?”
Keep asking this question:
“Who defines the family?
What can be its meaning?
Parents and children?
By birth or adoption?
Poultry? Cattle? Pets?”
I cannot recall how,
Ended up on one site:
“Actress Fawcett died,
From cancer of rectal!”
I thought of my friends,
My friends for ages,
Mo or Joe, and Qassim.
I was there for Qassim,
Two of us, no one else,
Not wife, nor children,
And a nurse explained…
Some parts of the colon,
Must go to let the rest,
Live for life and be safe.
Joe is too stubborn,
Is proud, keeps secret,
Pains of rectal sickness!
Being his closest friend,
I know and am aware,
But I am in the shackle.
For the sake of his respect,
Have tied lips, cannot say,
A word that causes pain,
Deep in me, I am hurt!
My days, nights, in the fret,
Integrate fear with dread,
Last moment’s sad message:
“Joe collapsed, lies in bed!”
Friendship means love, care,
Spiced with respect, help,
Joe, to me, is the best,
I am hushed, what can say?
Take away these papers,
All papers with my name,
My parents, dates of birth,
Such State’s Citizen…
I do not stand for,
The drums, trumpets,
To follow a single faith,
Or one flag, one anthem!
Let me be in peace and,
Love, respect humans,
Regardless of culture,
Adjust like a chameleon.
In my mouth, a piece of meat
Is it pork, muffin, beef?
Will the killed forgive me?
What and when will eat me?
A bird? Worm? Or maybe…?
Wait for guests,
Some friends,
Jamaicans!
And I am confused:
“What to do?”
Angry with women,
Want to shout:
“You, mother…
You, ex-wife…”
“Children,
And kitchen…”
They told me:
“Not for you,
Is off limit!!!”
They cleaned,
Cooked the meal,
They arranged,
Set, managed,
I came home,
All alone,
With friends!
While sending
Love, respect,
Inside me a flames
The flame of anger,
Makes me curse:
“God damn you,
You, women!!!”
Impatient, I whisper:
“I feel in a shackle!
You made me unable!
You made me miserable!
You made me so hopeless!
Thanks to you, am ashamed!”
It must be convincing,
To leave home, go shopping!
I am easy-tempered,
And my want is simple,
Am pleased when people,
Act like the dog, wag a tail.
Summertime is better,
Nature is generous,
Shows her jewels,
Exposes
The trees and bushes,
All plants, flowers,
From head to bottom,
And braless breasts.
I rather take a walk,
Permit eyes to see sight,
Of people with smiles…
Is always?
Of course, not!
Andrew has five parts,
Hands and legs, and a tongue.
The five-team go forward,
And brain follows up.
In the absence of a brain
This team loses the games!
Then: “Sorry, forgive me!”
Is free and offered.
Some, like me, are aware,
Some call him with labels.
I see me in a photo,
I am young,
And in love with Islam.
Most of us in Iran,
From north to the south,
East to West, all around,
Except for a handful,
Communists,
Are against the pagans,
Stalin, Soviets of Russia!
We adore-love Lincoln,
And freedom, Jefferson,
Though across the oceans!
We love these prophets,
Their efforts, and justice!
Burns photo in the flame,
Look at me in the mirror,
Laugh at me, my beard,
Are grown, white, grey,
And I feel embarrassed!
Emperors, Mother-child,
In London, Washington,
Have fooled us for too long,
CENTO was a flag on paper,
Called Green, for Islam,
With Muslim defenders,
Turkey, Iran, and Pakistan.
I see us as the mules,
Till arrived Gorbachev.
With the ‘Greens,’ in infights,
NATO is the greyhound,
And pawn of the Pentagon,
They murder, shed blood,
And Ukraine is Victimized!
Migration, Human Rights,
Politicians that make war,
Bullies of left and right,
Investors that make arms,
And victims on the run,
Escapees from the bombs,
In a vessel, were capsized!
I went to where had been,
Such cases, I have seen!
Powerful and rich bullies,
Presidents, officers,
Coup makers, seat seekers,
They tried to walk on,
Immigrants on the run,
But currents and the waves,
In the sea, of the water,
Stepped in, showed power!
Both looted and looters,
Shared the same freedom,
And worries, and fears,
A learned among them,
Talked to me, explained,
A word and its changes,
Meanings and definitions.
“I am an immigrant,
With roots in Zanzibar.”
“In the old ancient days,
A Persian Emperor, Xerxes,
Used our land as a passage,
They found us all Blacks,
So, called us ‘Zangi-Bar,’
But lacking ‘G,’ the Arabs’
Invaders pirated the slaves,
And called us ‘Zanzibar,’
Europe followed the case.”
Morning time and in car
On Highway ninety-nine
Am driving northbound.
Two eagles perching high,
Are kind of head-tail white.
Suddenly to my right
Hear a thump and jump.
I feel that they whisper:
“Humans are evils!”
Look in my side mirror,
Red blood on the asphalt,
Crushed is the squirrel,
In the wind, dancing tail,
Is shouting making wave:
“Stop those murderers!”
Gentle nods of eagles,
Approve injured, fallen.
I feel that they whisper:
“Humans are evils,
They polluted the earth,
Destroyed lakes, rivers,
And heated the oceans!”
Slowly pull to the side,
Set my mind on the top,
To observe their lookout.
Men cut the trees down,
Destroyed rivers, ponds,
Rare are birds, no beaver!
Four sides and directions,
Sunrise-east, sunset-west,
And the southern-northern,
Fence says: “Dog,” “Private!”
As a loyal friend,
I warn you, be aware,
Of the coming hell fire!
My friends in States:
“Inform the CIA,
And alert citizens,
Empire died, ended!”
Yes, yes, yes,
The truth is bitter!
Look at the two parties,
Are friends? Enemies?
What about presidents,
The past and present?
And the world?
Torch Lady of French,
Was sent to Abu Ghraib?
Near East and Far East?
Indians and Chinese?
Afghanis? Iraqis?
To Iran, Saudis?
All around the globe,
In robes or in cloaks,
Men, women, children,
Are waiting at the edge,
To watch the USA,
Go and die forever,
To vanish, disappear!
Tell friends in States:
“Inform the CIA,
And all the citizens,
‘USA’ went, faded!”
Sadly yes, yes, yes, yes!
She and I are very different,
We are like salt-pepper.
Which is best?
Leave? Stay?
Hit the road?
Go away?
But the two, together,
United in the meals,
Make the food tastier.
Am aware,
Well, aware,
Of her heart,
Will shatter!
Be patient,
And remain?
Am I one, only me,
Enjoying such cheating?
Am an old man,
Two third of a century.
And in love with cheating,
My victim is just me!
I cover my secrets,
From me, my brain.
Actors are not perfect,
Close my eyes, pretend,
Deep inside, I know well!
Mirrors are partners,
I stand firm, stare,
Teeth are first,
Then I shave,
Brush hair.
Touch my cheeks,
Eyebrows, eyelashes,
And smile satisfied:
“You look well!”
But I know,
Yes, I do, in detail,
I am a fool, a cheater!
A jar of foolishness,
Behave like an actor,
Do not see my wrinkles,
And ignore my baldness,
Borrow hair from a side,
And lend it to the other!!!
I freeze, hate the mirrors,
They dig deep, are blades,
Open wound of dumbness!
To ashes, is burned down,
Hawaii,
And I feel brutal,
Talking or writing down,
A poem on the blood.
Is painful to see one,
Injured, hurt, punctured ball,
Yet, using the index,
Pointing at the far,
Back, front, all around,
Playing with your thumb,
Up and down!
“In such a position,
Do you feel the others?
Do you feel Sudanese?
Syrians? Lebanese?
The Afghans? Iraqis?
Bloodied Persian Gulf?
Guantanamo? Abu-Ghraib?
Kabulis in Bagram?
Pakistan, Imran Khan?
And Neda and Mahsa,
Killed like sheep, in Iran?”
To ashes are burned down,
Towns, cities in Ukraine,
And I feel brutal,
Talking or writing down,
A poem on corpses, in blood.
But poets must not write,
Only of the sunrise,
Color shades in the clouds,
And the waves of beaches,
Men, women, children,
Laughing loud, half drunk.
Poets must have big hearts,
To see deep, and too wide.
Was I four?
Was I ten?
In between?
I do not remember!
Who was he?
How were we related?
I do not remember!
That day is engraved,
In my heart and brain!
I headed for Hana,
To join boys and play,
Or to be with parents,
Or maybe siblings,
Aunts? Uncles?
I do not remember!
I had left our village,
Encircled by mountains,
Was close to Shedeh,
Kooh-e-Mast far away.
He was a young shepherd,
His backpack was simple,
From wool and goat’s hair,
Around him, a small herd,
Of young goats, baby lambs,
Two or three goats, mothers,
Their breasts were covered,
With bras that matched them.
He had brought fresh bread,
With bowl, vase, of clay,
Half-filled bowl of yogurt,
Milked one goat, invited,
‘Goor-Must,’ was delicious.
I compared tendrils,
With the way she speaks,
Not her tongue but her lips,
And her eyes, chin, and cheeks.
In Jester, I believe.
In action, I believe.
Unaware,
Walks forward,
Cuts and is brutal.
He is blind,
Unaware and unwise,
He would be mesmerized,
If could see miracles, all around!
Just outside my backyard,
Have bushes, trees, vines,
Much wiser than mankind.
Look at them, observe the crawling,
By using tendrils,
Same as canes for fighting impairment.
I purchased rope to help,
They tested, flatly rejected.
They do not trust the,
Suspicious and vagueness.
Some pray with Bible,
Some Koran,
Some other religions,
I bow to,
The greatest teachers,
Children of Nature,
Pig, pigeon, squirrel,
To snake, spider,
Galaxies and magnets,
To fishes, sharks, or whales!
See many, are afraid,
Unafraid, I remain!
Life is one,
Death is once,
Afraid is half alive.
Opened can,
Heated corn.
In the pan,
Added eggs,
To be lunch.
Took it warm,
Went outside.
Came two wasps,
Flew past,
Then came back,
Pan was a Helipad.
I observed,
Bit and ate,
Just their share.
Warriors,
Are righteous.
Right after ate their share,
Flapped wings, departed.
Share the world,
Share your meal,
Share your heart.
Entertain and enjoy…
And why not?
And why not?
And why not?
Why do I?
Do not know!
I take nails and needles,
Then, push them in my veins.
I bleed, feel the pain,
Am I sick? Vehement?
Spent time in Texas,
Later, in California,
Studied, made friends,
Added to my knowledge.
Feel lost and indebted,
Like the sharks in oceans.
Also, served in Forces,
Encountered mischievous,
Blossomed inside the USA,
PENTAGON, CIA, USAIDs!
Why do I?
Do not know!
Love people,
But hate the government,
Of Yankees
Against the Africans,
Brought in as slaves,
And Natives’ massacres:
“Non-Whites are Savages!”
Why do I?
Do not know!
I take nails and needles,
And push them in my veins.
I bleed, feel the pain,
Am I sick? Vehement?
It is far different,
To be one, hear of.
It depends on the eye,
Training, locations.
“The pirates,”
We hear and sweat,
Leaves the pores,
Turns current,
We fear, are scared!
But who are the pirates?
Who defines them the best?
Anyone but themselves?
Let us go to Delta,
Nigeria, Africa…
There, we will,
Encounter,
Government,
Corrupt Shell,
Greedy investors,
Stepping on corpses,
Of a semi-dead nation.
If we care,
Boils blood,
In each vein!
We want guns,
We need guts:
“Go and fight!”
“Whom and how?”
Some may ask!
Fast and firm is replied:
“The masters, and crews,
With greed; ‘Oil seekers!’”
Being a filmmaker,
Docudrama at the center,
I must watch how others,
Plan, make, present.
I checked the NBC,
Watch the work of Engel,
Has gone to Africa,
To see the rise of Wagner.
Reporter, American,
Goes around to collect,
What he likes and favors,
Those in the USA!
I, too, dislike Wagner,
And the gangs, murderers,
Regardless of state!
Taking sides?
One of them?
No never!
What about the budget?
From whom, how, and where?
I am an independent,
In handcuffs and shackles!
His crew are well paid,
By TV, their masters!
Yankees of the USA,
Are copies of John Wayne,
(CIA invests dollars,
To make The Green Berets!)
I, an independent,
An Indie filmmaker,
An ignored, forgotten,
Die orphan in the cradle!
I beg you to kill me,
As soon as am eighty,
Not to do what he did!
As one team, we, three,
Had gone to accomplish,
The job, ordered by him.
Dense hedges of green,
Gate, Metal on Bearings,
Tall walls with electrics,
Had fences around him.
Mistrusts his neighbor,
And suspects the others,
He speaks as master,
Ordering some slaves!
Claimed to have degrees,
From many universities.
Is in love with Trump,
Has money, is well off,
Buys to sell, land, plots:
“Shall I care? Not at all!”
He looked at Andrew,
(Caucasian, white, a pale:
Come on in and observe!)
But treated Lincoln,
Our colleague, African,
Using the worst comment:
“You do not understand!”
Was that race, racism?
Or because of his age?
Or killing mother earth,
For making more Dollars?
I was lynched in the dark!
Lincoln had two poodles,
Light and dark chocolate,
One female and one male,
To become wife-husband.
Leila got pregnant,
Delivered five sisters.
He offered to sell them,
Each, for some hundreds.
Then, one of the masters,
Named the baby poodle:
“Cat! Kitten!”
We observed in wonder,
The buyer was angered:
“She is mine, I name her!”
“Why is so?” I questioned.
Man of books and research
Was prompt to answer:
“The people who have pets,
Treat them like slaves,
And kids of Indians,
In schools and churches,
The patrons gave the name,
As they wished, as wanted,
They saw them as objects,
James, Mary, or number,
Like the ones inside jails,
With, without a picture,
Why not I do the same?
Am I, not the master?
Did I not pay for her?”
I remained hushed, silent,
Was feared he might say:
“The slaves were hunted,
Then, removed in cages!”
On the way to the job
Enjoyed the sun’s smile.
Attracted, mesmerized,
Pulled aside and stopped.
Grabbed my camera,
With lens and tripod.
Aiming at my subject,
Focused to photograph.
Observed the golden sun,
Conquered the sky,
Became King and Royal.
Master sat on the throne,
Scribbled scrolls,
Many rolls, in ray form.
Mother Earth accepted,
The secret love letters.
Absorbing all of them
Into wings and feathers.
How I wished I could be,
In a hammock, sleeping,
Over there, peacefully.
Would use the blanket,
Of the fog and vapor,
Or maybe silk, mohair.
I would use anything,
Around me of nature.
Nature, you, sweetest,
You, the most devoted,
You are a birth mother,
To mankind, wilderness.
“Everything is over,
The police used wisdom,
At home are the children,”
I am told, expected,
To believe this nonsense!
These blinds, forever,
Only see the moment,
I look at the future…
See the son and daughter,
Grow independent…
They will write sad novels,
With flames on the ashes,
Ash covers the embers…
I call it trauma…
I call it drama…
Though for just a few days,
The brother, sister
Innocent children,
Were dragged everywhere!
During days and nights
With each tick of the clock,
They listened, overheard,
Whatever mother said:
“Your father is the devil!”
Everything is reversed:
“Your mother is devil…”
I call it drama…
It causes trauma…
After years, if ever,
They try to manage,
Wonder how drama,
Impacts the trauma!
It says on a public bus:
“Amber Alert is over.”
I laugh loud with anger,
Tears are painted red,
Suck blood from veins!
“Amber Alert?” Was declared!
“Amber Alert?” All weekdays!
Finally, is over!
Finally, is over!
Finally, is over!
I look at children,
Poor, little, innocent!
Were kidnapped? Stolen?
By a mother who gave birth?
What is wrong?
Have answer?
Those stinking lawyers?
Are blind? That woman?
That woman with scale?
Rotten fish, from head?
I am filled with questions,
Am searching for reasons,
Want someone to answer.
Mother and children,
Ran from the father?
The law of the fosters,
Such parents are B. S.
For the poor children!
Confused and silent,
Am ember and flame!
With a pen, once again
Dig into travels…
Write about the dangers,
Draw the risks taken,
Encircle the moments,
Of the softness, hardness,
And escapes!
Odysseus headed home,
In his heart and his veins,
Blood boiled with bubbles.
He knew,
No one else.
He slept with Siren,
And became a father!
From will?
No, never!
Back at home,
The Suitors,
And his wife,
Children,
With their lives,
All wandered!
"Is he dead,
On the way?"
No news!
All silence,
And silence,
And darkness!
Silence is a mother,
To the thoughts,
To judgments!
Odysseus was aware,
Only he, no one else!
Here, in the city,
In the city where I live,
See many gatherings,
In parks, on the streets.
There, many come to me,
Lecture me and want me,
To accept and believe:
“Jesus died for you, me.”
I stop, questioning:
“Who was he? Why did he?”
No logic in replies,
Too simple, know nothing!
In my heart, I feel sad,
For Jesus with this gang!
Whomever he maybe,
He must sign treaties,
Treaty for long peace,
I believe he can’t win,
Not with such an army!
I recall the proverb:
“Tell me of your friends.”
Reason of the questioner:
“If smart, they raise you,
If no good, they fail you.”
Studied the religions,
Most, if not all of them,
At the start were great,
Then fell and scattered,
All cracked or shattered.
In them, the wrong people
Acted like the worst venom,
Divided, lashed, murdered.
This writing is a testament to empathy,
Rooted in the depths of my heart's affinity.
It flows from my experiences,
My sincerity and true,
It is the essence of my travels,
My care and the pursued research.
For I love both people,
Ukraine to the Philippines,
I care deeply for their nations,
And my heart lives among them.
I shared stories and meals,
Embraced their struggles,
Saw their wounds,
Felt their ideals.
Like ants under giants,
They have borne heavy weights,
Colonizers' greed,
And deceivers' false states.
To the Philippines, they said:
"We'll save you from Spain,"
Yet colonization followed,
Inflicted lasting pain.
Then, as cobbles,
The colonizer,
Trod on the Filipinos' pride,
Exploited their loyalty,
Used them for a rollercoaster ride.
Now to Ukrainians,
They promise liberation's hand,
But they too will be used,
Their dreams turned to sand!
In the face of this history,
I pen these lines,
A witness to their struggles,
To the hopes, also the confines.
For I stand with both nations,
United in heart,
In empathy, understanding,
And the solidarity of art.
I wasted too much time,
Writing of Donald Trump.
I know him as one of,
The racists who know how,
To gather wealth, climb,
Using the corpses of…
With claims, they walk tall:
“BETTER RACE IS SMART.”
Such people have no faith,
Abuse their guides, helpers,
Like the paths, vehicles,
Blindly, unaware,
Of the need for props!
Those thrown under the bus,
Awakened, have survived,
In them boils their blood,
Turned vicious, stand up,
Against the “Evil Boss.”
In Richmond of BC,
Saw houses, very big,
No one there, empty!
Also, saw some people,
Carry bags on shoulders,
With carts and bicycles.
Such houses take me to,
Yesteryears’ memories.
In Iran, past and now,
And Ernest in La Paz.
He was named after Che,
The famous known rebel.
I look at my posters,
Drawings and pictures,
Mesmerized, find myself.
Keep thinking of Ernests,
Borgnine was an actor,
Hemingway, the author,
Also, Che who rebelled,
Then many boys and girls.
He told me, in La Paz,
Pointed at a big house:
“Here is where my dad,
Was killed after torture!”
His mother accountant
Of the El Che movement,
Was caught, imprisoned,
While she was pregnant!
My friend, young Ernest
Disturbed and displaced,
Found solace in the drug,
Took in much and left us.
In my backyard,
Planted vegetables,
Tomato, cucumbers.
Mint grew, harvested!
There, saw the spiders!
Though great, is normal!
Asked questions:
“What for? Why?”
Some told me:
“From God.”
Some tell me:
“Nature wants!”
I am not satisfied!
I am not satisfied!
I am not satisfied!
The insects know green,
Master is the Spider,
In hunting, setting web!
Can’t sleep,
Keep thinking!
Ask questions:
“Who taught? How?”
Repeated, are replies,
Repeated, are replies,
Repeated, are replies!
I am not satisfied!
I am not satisfied!
I am not satisfied!
Who taught the spider?
Mastery, making web!!!
Joe Biden,
By sending clusters,
Don’t tell me that you care,
Don’t tell me you love them!
Split is your tongue,
Venomous, stings but,
Sweetly to do the wrong.
First Nations realized,
About you and your kind,
From the church and Royals.
The time was Buffalo’s,
Treaties were being signed!
I happened to learn of,
The Yankees’ kind of love,
In the churches, squares,
When opposing Spain,
Mainly in Cuba…
You sent a ship,
Filled with arms,
For flaring a war!
Colonized the Pacific,
Destroyed old and young,
For many years, decades,
And Japan was blamed!
Now Ukraine is the same,
You supply cluster,
For having footsteps:
“We will send the experts!”
You do what your popes did,
They tortured and murdered,
The rebels as the pagans,
You, puppet, of the devils,
Warmongers, arms-makers!
This is not a poem,
And is not prose,
Not rhymed with meter,
And not new, nor ancient.
This is what in my mother’s tongue,
Is called: “Dare-e-Del!”
Can I translate?
“No,” if I want to be honest.
Languages are not translatable!
Never, not even in the time of media,
Not even with technology and signs.
Languages are the outcome of,
Years. Decades, centuries,
Of coexistence with one another,
And the winds and the mountains,
Or in conclusion, “With Nature.”
How can an Inuit define the buffalo,
In the way that a Cree of Prairies did?
How can the Quechua translate,
The waves of the water,
As do the Urus?
How can the people around Caspian,
Translate the palm trees, dates,
And the camels baking bread?
How can a conquistador understand,
Or translate the language of ‘Rivers,’
‘Tagalog,’ or ‘Aymara?’
How could the children of Abraham,
The self-declared agents of Jehovah,
Understand the gods of Greece, Persia,
And the Andes, or Himalayas?
No, this is not a poem,
This is not prose of new, or ancient,
This is the evaporated tears of my eyes,
Risen from my heart, after decades of,
Befriending with the people of the world,
Not asking them about their genders,
Cultures, genes, or DNA…
This is coded writing between my eyes,
My heart, my mind, and my craziness,
Like the letters written with vinegar,
To be visible to read, in front of the flame.
And you can be the flame,
The flame that I see when I sit,
In my patio, watching my plants,
And my flowers, those that I know,
By the names I have borrowed,
Or with no name, which I prefer.
This is the kind of writing that,
You look at the smartness of the,
Spider with its delicate web,
To catch the insects…
The insects that each,
Are smart, smarter, smartest,
Flying around or crawling,
On your skin, in your hair,
And there are times,
When find no place to go,
Except in your nose or eye!
This is the talk between,
The cells of my body,
With a brain that knows,
But doesn’t know,
It is a miracle…
Whose miracle?
God’s?
It is an easy answer,
To get over with it!
Big Bang?
“Just happened?”
That makes it even harder,
This is a “Dard-e-Del!”
Dard-e-del with me, myself,
And with my friends who send messages,
Not knowing that they, in all their loveliness,
Are no more than some monkeys and parrots.
“Hey, you,” I want to say:
“I received this from many others,
They, too, think that they are the first.”
And that is why I do not forward the messages,
Even if the message itself insists that I should.
You can give this writing a name,
But not me, I feel mean to do so.
How can I not talk of the “Amber Alert?”
Mother kidnapping her own child, or children?
Who says so? The law? Who sets the law?
Didn’t the law call the Blacks slaves,
That can be owned, and raped by the owners?
Didn’t the law authorize the church and the
RCMP to scoop children of varied ages,
And force them to live in residential schools,
To be brainwashed like the soldiers?
And what do the soldiers do?
Anything but destruction and murder,
Under a different definition?
War? Defending the right and righteous?
And then, the killers are known as:
“Veterans!”
No, this is not a poem,
Neither is it prose of new, or ancient,
This is “Dard-e-Del!”
Talk between the feelings and the brain!
He is my prophet,
He was, is the savior.
He was not just a Cree,
But for us, all Nations!
Big Bear be “Forgotten?”
No, never, not ever…
Many of the ‘Reserves,’
Are named after greats.
But the best of the bests,
Rejected being caged!
My belief and my faith
Comes of that prophet!
A girl in the suitcase?
What? A fact? Or fiction?
I heard of a young girl,
A lover, fiancé,
Her love fought her wisdom:
“…airplane had landed…”
The rest is like Quebec,
The Quebec’s third fire:
“Was work of two lovers,
Their love was forbidden!”
The girl was a hybrid,
And her love was a white,
Problems with church, law!
They found their only way:
“Burn the town and escape!”
Out of sight of people,
They had to run away,
So, they did, set a fire!
Everyone was rushing,
Nobody was watching.
The city was charcoal,
Ash covered many homes.
Master asked about the girl,
And no one found the boy.
The lovers won the war,
Against the church and law!
In customs, the suitcase,
Was opened to be checked,
In it was “A DEAD GIRL!”
If Love faces Wisdom,
Wisdom is the loser!
Inside our parking lot
Pet shop and restaurant
Are neighbors, wall to wall.
I stop for a while,
Stand with open eyes.
Read the signs,
“The wild birds,”
A “Sushi restaurant.”
One saves the cat and dog,
Other serves the fish raw.
First wonder then ponder,
In despair and anger:
“What are we?”
“Human?”
Feel ashamed,
Embarrassed,
Crazy human!
Envy the dinosaurs,
Envision the mammoths.
That is our destiny,
I see them in waiting.
We consumed their bodies,
As oil and gasoline,
Who will use our bodies?
“As what?” “When?”
Shirtless man on a saddle,
Pedaled an old bicycle,
Pulling a cart of shoppers.
Looked at me, in his eyes,
Reflected: “What the Fak?”
He knew I knew,
He ignored the bylaw!
He murmured: “What the Fak!”
Then shouted: “What the Fak!”
Using his mid finger,
Repeated: “What the Fak!”
I channeled in his heart,
And swam to his mind:
“No one cares, why should I?”
Read details in his face:
“Look at me, am homeless!”
Going to the job site
Stopped on the roadside,
Inhaled some fresh air,
And chatted with nature.
Felt thunder in my head,
Stormed and rained shower.
The drops were questions,
Asked about Hell, Heaven,
And the creeks and Havens.
Asked about the clouds,
Rain, showers, and oceans.
Asked about the dolphins,
And the sharks and the whales.
Asked about the crows,
And eagles and ravens.
Asked about Big Ben and,
The Bible’s prophets,
Adam, Eve, and Noah,
And Sara, Abraham.
“What about God, himself?”
“What about Testaments?”
“Are they not dream-like?
“Are they not full of lies?
Heard the roar of a cougar,
Saw the shadow of a bear,
“Hey, stop,” sang the bird.
They advised, rightly said:
“Look around see others,
Go and be one of them,
Live like lamb, a chicken,
Or be a pig, horse, cattle,
Mimic sheep, join the herd!”
Architects, as I know,
Calculate foundations,
To get there use brains.
Juliet, my lover,
Is quite different!
Like the Maid of the Mist,
Has foggy, hazy dreams,
For the brain has no need!
Lives in the palaces
Crystallites of vapors!
A word is like the wind,
Can wound her fatally!
Ones who know the cascades
Must have seen their custom.
They act like the free world,
Capitalists and Europe…
The highest is always,
The place that enters,
The flow of water.
If by chance it exceeds
The edges and sidings
Then, maybe, possibly,
We observe the wetting,
Of stones, and the cliffs.
The upper one percent
Exactly are the same,
With very deep pockets.
Do the fountains ponder?
Know the law of nature?
“All of us came naked,
Our abodes, palaces,
Will remain for others,
And we will leave naked!”
The fences, collections,
Keep apart, separate,
As if guests to others,
Finally, like fountains
Are slammed, in return.
I love our mother earth,
She gave birth, is grave,
To me, you, and the rest.
So, what is this fussing?
Why keep on collecting?
What joy is in hoarding?
By a fir, in the hedge,
Saw a leaf, brown, dead.
Placed it in my paddle,
Planned to write a poem.
I had thought to focus,
On its bones and its veins,
And if could, its flesh.
All were worn and damaged,
And the liquids had vapored.
But, sadly, the paddle
Had lost it, disappeared
What had me inspired…
So, I wrote a eulogy,
For a leaf, lost friend.
What was it?
Do not know,
Whatever,
Not Maple!
At her birth was Jinet,
A little, tiny girl.
As a sick little girl,
Was taken to the church,
Was baptized, Juliet,
Superstition, Superstitious!
“Do not like new name…”
She says and complains!
“Am center of the jokes,
Without my Romeo!”
Angry, I frown,
Laugh, cry…
Ignorance, hills of sand,
Are aimless little ants,
If not in a bucket, hand!
Want to write like “Plumbs,”
Of Carlos Williams.
How many?
What went on?
Have plants in my yard,
Cucumber, zucchini, squash,
Mint, jalapeno, and so on…
Plant of tomato,
Turned yellow,
I felt dumb…
Kept asking:
“What went wrong?”
In my hand pruner,
Walked as if executer,
Cut some leaves to trim.
There, I heard a shrub,
Sighed and subbed!
“You, selfish,”
Said fences,
And spooks!
I had set,
A thread
To direct!
Leaves lost life,
When observed,
Noose around!
Said the falling tears:
“You, selfish human,
You killer in action,
You tied it on my neck,
You stopped the water!”
On my way,
Morning time,
Saw workers,
Of Punjab,
Men, women,
Old and young.
Saw plants,
Of berries,
Blueberry,
Raspberry.
Saw plants,
Like soldiers,
All lined up,
Set to march.
On return,
Two machines,
Mexicans,
And baskets.
Machine picked?
Or Handpicked?
Asked sellers,
Some ladies!
I questioned,
That and this,
And did learn,
Researching!
Money goes to dealers,
Not workers, laborers,
Not needy or orphans!
Yes, this is everywhere,
With police, governments,
Synagogues and Churches,
To Mosques and preachers!
Soon, want to wear my shoes,
On my head, and my hat…
You can laugh…
You can laugh…
As my shoes!!!
Soon, want to take my nose,
And put it in my pants…
You can laugh…
You can laugh…
To replace genitalia!!!
Then reverse!
And reverse!
Did you know?
Colonialists,
If ever captured king,
Or any prophet,
Enslaved,
Called: “Pagans?”
Vatican and Spain,
Sweden, Britain,
And Holland,
To France and Norway,
Lost thrones are fallen,
Like Greece and Perse!
We know of the crowns,
And Czars, and Royals,
Collapsing to be ground,
For New, to walk on.
Why not wear trousers,
As a jacket, and a shirt,
As cover for the legs?
Observe the bumble bees,
Fat, chubby, and lazy,
Quiet, slowly, flying,
Penetrate flowers, circling.
They repeat the same thing,
With bushes, more trees,
Feel amazed, keep thinking.
“This is called pollination,
They do what do the pimps,
Matchmakers; matchmaking.”
With more time,
Revisit and revise:
“This is a miracle,
Creator? Or nature?”
You name it whatever!
This is not man, science!
It has been forever…
Forever and ever…
Doubtlessly is great,
Must praise miracles!
We, selfish, humans,
Are the bags of nonsense,
Or are filled with science,
Narcissists do claim!
What are we?
What the heck?
Recorders, internet,
And AI, and others,
Are nothing but infants,
Whenever, if compared,
With galaxies, oceans!
Wonder why some wonder:
“You? Hating the USA?”
Here is my answer:
“Devil is in the detail!”
As soon as came Reagan,
Declared war against us.
Amassed jets, tanks, and guns,
Used some fool named Saddam.
Saudi, USA, and allies,
Added to what Russia,
Had given to Iraq…
Bombs and shells,
Killed! Injured!
Who made them?
Who were the murderers?
Who was the main leader?
Saudi was only a puppet!!
If honest with wisdom
No need to go further,
Let’s step on the brake!
The papers, media,
Talk to youths in Iran,
And find them at a loss.
Many lost some friends,
In haze live men, women,
Have lost hope, interest,
For fighting but can’t rest!
USA meant Reagan,
He came and injected,
In our veins and brains,
The worst of poisons!
Listening to Wagner
Read Wagner.
Germany,
Italy,
And Russia,
And Ukraine,
Pentagon, USA!
Enjoying music
Lose laughter,
Shed tears.
What the hell!
What the hell?
What the hell??
The questions
Hit the wall and return.
Ouch, it hurts!
Ouch, it hurts!!
Ouch, it hurts!!!
They want me to join them:
“Be one of our members.”
I didn’t say a word,
In silence, with motion
Said: “Never, not, ever!”
Die for wealth or power?
Live lavish, and spend?
For inside underwear?
“No, no, no, not ever!”
“No, no, no, not ever!”
“No, no, no, not ever!”
As the child of mountains,
And kidnapped on oceans,
Went through large flames,
From toes to the head…
Saw fire everywhere,
All over, each corner!
“So, never, not ever!”
“So, never, not ever!”
“So, never, not ever!”
No, cannot, will not sell,
The warm heart, a blessed,
For mankind, with kindness.
“No, no, no, not ever!”
“No, no, no, not ever!”
“No, no, no, not ever!”
Can’t join you for power,
And not for wealth’s sake.
“No, no, no, not ever!”
“No, no, no, not ever!”
“No, no, no, not ever!”
Let me be and remain,
Poor rebel, for justice.
Driving to the west
On Zero Avenue
Saw deer confused!
Ran across,
Then stopped,
Faced a fence,
And returned!
In those eyes
Two stars
And whirlpool!
Froze foot on the break,
Calm, silent, I observed,
Thought of me as a deer!
“I found her,
Talked, chatted,
Sang love songs.”
“She confirmed,
On fire to join her,
Hit a wall of metal,
Screened are fences!”
“She remained as did I,
between us was a wall!”
What the hell is this life?
What the hell is mankind?
Those with shops, media,
Full of lies, just show off,
Pretend when they shout:
“Polar bears and the fox,
Elephant, Grizzly, gorilla,
The whales, seal creatures,
Large condors and eagles,
Have decreased in number!”
With flags in the air
Some sing and celebrate:
“Is The Day of Foundation?”
Yes, it is,
They are right.
Who are they?
Invaders?
Immigrants?
New? Old?
Settlers?
Just a few see the depth,
Buffalos are gone, dead,
The gatherer and hunter!
Life has changed,
Life has changed,
Life has changed!
Expanded, farms, farmers,
The buildings killed rivers.
I recite the poem,
Poet seeks humans,
He hears: “It is rare!”
I look for the creeks,
And beavers playing!
Life has changed,
Life has changed,
Life has changed!
Beaver sits on the Nickle!
Beaver sits on the Nickle!
Beaver sits on the Nickle!
Have a happy Canada Day!
Have a happy Canada Day!
Finally, it happened,
Sat and talked with Fred.
He was born Indian,
In a reserve as his cage.
Conquerors were tailors,
Cut pieces, used threads,
Threatened with a gavel:
“Must bring the children!”
Talked about Jesus, faith,
Punishment, heaven, hell
And need for repentance!
The nuns, and the pastors
Dictated as teachers,
They spoke against rape,
But raped those innocents.
Parents thought children,
Would be safe over there.
“Safe?”
He looks, face comments:
“Not, between toe to head!”
To his jest, I stare,
He speaks like Jester,
Silence talks of lectures.
No more words, just silence!
No more words, just silence!
No more words, just silence!
In my bed, he slept,
Hugged before departure.
No more words, just silence!
No more words, just silence!
No more words, just silence!
Guess there is no mirror,
Better than the brain,
It absorbs and gathers,
And records experience.
I sat and prayed, begged:
“Take me back to a day,
Day of youth, freshness.”
Suddenly, walls, ceiling,
All bricks kept laughing,
A soundtrack of laughter,
Could hear a naughty girl:
“You are funny, a pencil,
Crayon for a kid, children
For painting with color!”
Looking back can see her,
I am blue, red, and grey,
Lions, metal, and golden.
Yes, I was a cadet,
Military Academy,
Uniformed in color.
She must be a mother,
If alive and not dead,
How I wish to see her.
We can laugh together,
At the cadets in colors…
We can laugh forever,
A laugh that never ends.
She was right and exact,
Then I walked to attract,
I was formed like clay!
We listened to orders,
Of a captain or majors!
Passed by there,
No remain of remains,
Nothing but nothingness.
No note said:
“Nothing came,
Nothing left!”
Dipped in the lung,
An inhale and exhale,
The air of nothingness.
On its walls slogan:
“Great is nothingness.”
For too long have waited
For a cute little girl,
She was born in Ukraine.
Is young and innocent,
Yet, one of the victims.
The couple in their bed,
Full of joy, pleasure,
Had dreams for later:
“Why not be the parents?”
A stork, Milky Way’s,
Brought a child, cradled,
And set her at the steps.
Poor girl is a victim,
Of greed of others…
Two of them are parents,
Full of love, care, fear…
Factories, arms makers,
Compete for the markets,
To sell guns and bullets,
Also, tanks, and airplanes.
Poor girl is a victim,
Of greed of others…
Thinking of the unrest,
Speak with her mother,
To give me the details:
“Departure? Arrival?”
Here is her message:
“Our city is not safe,
Hospitals, most houses,
Streets, everywhere,
Are collapsed or littered,
With corpses and injured!”
Just to be clear,
I hate writing this text.
In my tongue, language
Putin is some footwear,
For the cold and winter.
But still, if I were,
Putin, I would declare,
The worst war on Biden's.
Napoleon and Spain, USA,
Turned a chick into a snake,
That kills and harms nations.
Arrogant, most rulers,
One is Ronald Reagan!
Americans by mistake
Interpret the Regan’s
Addressing Gorbachev,
Commenting on Berlin!
DOMESTIC ARROGANCE!
DOMESTIC ARROGANCE!
They only see themselves,
Def and blind to others,
Keep thinking: “Is correct.”
Studying their arms sales
Shows a torch in a mirror:
“Murderers are monsters!”
DOMESTIC ARROGANCE!
DOMESTIC ARROGANCE!
DOMESTIC ARROGANCE!
Putin must aim, address,
Washington, Pentagon,
To teach them a lesson!
In those days
The books say:
“Women’s feet
Were small,
Naturally,
Or were tied.”
We speak of China,
Not near, not too far!
Women were nothing but,
Heat for the bed,
Slow walks,
Being leashed was a must.
Today when all of us
Went to work for TELUS,
The building was a house.
Came a man, age, thirties,
Stepped out to help me,
Though good in English,
His culture was Chinese.
We asked him and he was,
Unaware of where, how,
Concisely he replied:
“My mother knows it all!”
History in my mind
Politely, I smiled.
And pictured:
Mao Zedong!
He swam and he fought,
Resisted, learned, and taught:
“Chinese must have pride…”
He reached out to the skies,
Brought down British Sun!
Years ago, wrote a poem,
“Mutiny,” was its name:
“The people, the nation,
Is tired, exhausted,
Of the corrupt politicians!”
I repeat what said then:
“Politics consists of,
The corrupts, Corruption!”
Trump was an outsider,
Easily accepted,
Hoping that is correct.
Mostly nice and simple
Americans, of the USA
Were cheated, elected,
The greatest deceiver,
With a big mouth, a liar!
He walked on the corpses,
Of the victims, murdered,
With decrees and orders...
Vote Trump or Biden?
No, no, no, not ever!
Bloody are Jaffa and Ukraine,
Thanks to these warmongers!
I have seen, visited,
Many sites of ancient
Histories, governments,
And long-dead empires.
Look at the ‘Informants,’
In the US ‘House, Senate,’
See the fights, struggles,
It sheds light on “D-Day!”
Shortest lived Empire.
Iranian governments
Always were, and remain,
For friends and themselves
They ignore the people.
That is why, we always,
Resist and oppose them.
Shah was with Israel,
And we saw Palestine,
With Algiers rerising.
Now mullahs send money,
To Russia, Syria, Lebanon,
The nation likes Ukraine.
Entered the dark tunnel,
“History,” was her name,
I listened to the rattles.
Heard noises, disturbance,
Efforts of hammers-nails,
Scavenged books’ pages!
The U.S. government,
With people in churches
Together, united, slogan:
“We must save Cubans.”
Sudden was the buzzer,
True? False? Then Spain,
Was blamed for action:
“Blasted Vessel Maine!”
Spain’s nose in the heavens,
Hell broke between them!
Crows left with ravens,
A vulture took the nest.
Adam-Eve is nonsense,
But in fact, the humans,
Always were and remain,
Mean to our Mother Earth,
Construct lies and claims:
“Faith in God, in science!”
We index Fox, Jackal,
Destroy the insects,
Kill the lamb and chicken,
Jaguars, lions, bears,
Calling them: “Dangerous!”
Let us look at Ukraine,
Supply of armaments,
Mostly made by States,
An Eagle? Or Monster?
Never can I forget…
No, never, not ever…
The problem with me,
Is not but history…
I heard, then studied!
I searched and studied!
The powers, all along,
In thousands, and in one,
Did cruel but word-wise,
Claimed well, chivalry.
So, they lied,
Knowingly!!!
They caught, tied, blinded,
Set in ships, in shackles,
Sold mankind in the markets,
Men, women, as slaves…
Parted their children,
As if lambs, pigs, horses!
And preached in churches:
“Son of God came for peace.”
Brutes turned to fathers,
Made kids and children,
On and on till today,
Now grandchild claims:
“Ancestors misbehaved.”
Children of victims exclaim:
“If true, go, depart, and join them,
Talk is air, show action…”
Vancouver’s changing a name,
Komagata Maru’s remembrance,
Is no more than a word game!
I sat down,
Faced the wall,
Raised my hand,
Four fingers,
And a thumb,
Many joints,
And my palm,
Saw treks,
Many lines,
Turning hand,
Saw knuckles,
Heard questions:
“Who are you?
Where are we?
What is life?
Why like this?”
I was lost,
Lost in thoughts!
No reply,
Silence ruled,
The voice died!
Went to the barbershop!
Deaf?
Maybe!
Blind?
Not!
A girl sat on the chair,
Seeing her was my first,
Beauty? An angel,
Slightly slat eyes,
Bony cheek, quite white.
Well-behaved,
And polite,
Sold honey,
If smiled.
Took broom,
And cleaned,
I thought was a Chinese,
A Korean, Japanese,
A Thai, or Vietnamese.
But was not of any,
Asian countries.
Was very much Native,
Great, with dignity,
And pride,
I could see,
But her land,
Liberty,
In the hands of immigrants,
The recent, and the past,
She gave her resume:
“Sorry Ma’am, no place!”
Said the Iraqi barber,
And I had to tip her:
“You will be greatest.”
There, at the graveyard,
During burial, funeral,
I witnessed true love,
Deepest love, real love.
She, mother to his child,
A wife with faith in love,
Like sunray or moonlight,
Was silent, did not talk,
Yet, showered us with light.
Both my eyes went weird,
They cried, shed tears,
On my cheeks, two rivers.
Felt in a mosque or a church,
Heard my heart tell my brain:
“Kneel, exult, and praise…”
Had told me Manuchehr,
Married for thirty years,
And shared two children.
All three had come to,
Say goodbye to a man who,
Loved them with every cell,
Of blood, bone, flesh…
Their son was a real man,
And daughter, gentlewoman,
And his wife, torch in the dark.
She was a candle’s flame,
To resist the wind and hail.
She stood quite firm,
With friends of husband,
That prayed as Muslims,
All facing the casket,
Heartthrobs could be heard:
“Without you, life is hell!”
The roses smelled well,
And the sweet songs of birds.
Observing far and near
Sat silent for hours…
With a soft, appearance
Holy guest rode a wave,
On the Fraser River.
A breeze on the water
Joyfully danced away.
The currents rattled bell:
“Summer is on its way.”
Sun was king, his highness,
Set the rules with orders:
“The clouds must remain-
Powerless, and worthless.”
Saw boats move, travel,
Float homes, all settled,
And owners roll in beds,
Half asleep, half awake.
And above the roses
Flew a hummingbird,
To defend its chicken,
Resting inside the nest.
They teach me,
And I learn,
As I wish,
Not their way.
They insist on the essay,
For getting good grades.
They name a few books,
Related to the subject.
Their lenses, binoculars,
May focus on the depths.
But I see their steps,
Is leading to the fire.
They gather in a circle,
Limited to themselves.
They do not know of others,
Talk and walks, and cultures.
I see designs, ways, manners,
Each, and all, having power,
To behave, show, and present,
Unique arts, beauty, attraction.
They focus on the pond,
My pool is deep in the sky.
The point at one hill,
I lean on all the peaks.
They teach me and I learn,
As I wish, not their way…
Interviewed CBC,
He answered, I heard him.
Obvious, clear,
Heard him loud,
Spoke, talked,
Of what passed,
What went on.
“To school they took me,
It was jail, gas chamber,
Seemingly, for torture,
To be killed by butchers."
"Killed our tongue,
Our culture,
The manner to converse,
Our siblings, and parents."
They erased memories,
The warmth of families.
The school he went in,
Only took, no giving.
Now, David an artist,
Masters in sculpting,
Carves stones to speak,
By shouting, silently.
Ruben bagged all his hate,
Gathered tools, converted,
Went searching in nature,
Found myths of ancestors,
Retold with sculptures.
“The stones in my hand,
Flex like the hive’s wax,”
Concludes, says at last,
Very calm, and relaxed:
“In my den past is past.”
My friend is Black,
From the Caribbean.
During our meetings,
We talk of history.
Has heard of F. Douglas,
As well as Uncle Tom.
Not knowing either one,
Is aware that the latter,
Is some curse and insult.
About why he knows not.
I told him about the book,
And an adapted movie…
Looked at me, his eyes red:
“Was he some betrayer?
Sold the black Africans?
And praised the master,
That abused the slaves?”
Time was short, we parted,
Before asking the question:
“What about F. Douglas?”
Must insist, must repeat:
“Do not whine and cry,
Be a freedom fighter,
He is a great role model.”
Spent life in a cage,
Am free, but too late.
Did not know I was an egg,
Did not know I was a bird,
Did not know of the things,
Like flight, and the wings…
Had I known then, I could,
Fly away, leave, escape.
Now free, powerless,
Am in dust and on earth.
Invaders took our nest,
They looted, killed parents,
And sisters, brothers…
Was an egg, an orphan,
With parents as fosters,
Hatched feeling strange!
Was thrown into a cage,
unaware, and well-fed,
I heard the sigh in bliss!
Now, free, and aware,
What I want is my death,
I envy the lucky ignorant…
Am I a ghost?
You in me,
I am you,
So, hate me,
To hate you!
You were a guest,
I fed you,
Gave you shade,
Home, shelter.
You, as an axe,
Axe of faith,
With the gun,
Gained power.
You forced me,
To convert,
You killed me,
Killed my soul!
You sawed me,
Made me dust,
Then swept,
Under the rugs!
Am in search,
For my tongue,
For my robes,
For my ways!
To be heard,
Use your tongue,
To be seen,
Wear your gown!
You in me,
I am you,
So, hate me,
To hate you!
On the floor,
On carpet,
Sat, small,
Little girl,
A toddler.
Had a toy,
Played with,
Joyfully, happily.
Came mother,
Brought toy,
And father,
Did the same.
With more toys,
More chances,
From them,
Could select.
Then, later,
Aunts, uncles,
Each brought,
Another present.
She, the cute little girl
Was a drop in the ocean.
Played but not often,
Like a toy she became,
Another, among them…
Old, new, small, large,
She was lost among them.
Many toys around her,
Lost contact forgot them.
When I searched, traveled,
Met young and old people,
Now, I feel like that girl...
Exactly at the border,
Canada-USA’s…
Each side of the street
One of the two countries.
I braked and stopped,
Saw squirrels run or jump.
“Be careful and watch out,”
I, almost, said out loud…
Squirrels, like monkeys
Turned around, looking at me.
They realized what I said,
Back and forth, went, played.
I could read their actions:
“Go, get lost, we don’t care.”
Many face the judges,
Mostly get a jail term,
For crossing a border!
But the devil squirrels
Do not care, they play.
Admire what I see,
With no gut to copy,
These little animals!
Look at me in the mirror,
Laugh at me, one useless,
Creature, with the claims
Of knowledge, progress!
Some corrupt or madmen
Have gathered and written,
Books of faiths, religions,
And laws for obedience!
Feel tipsy like oceans.
You and I are two sides,
Exactly like a mirror.
Apt,
Front?
Or,
Rear?
You spend time, observe,
Shows on the monitor.
I relax, entertain,
And chat with the items.
Kooh-I- Noor
In crown
And scone
To sit on
And spoon
Which remained,
From goods,
Of Charles One!
What was used?
Where? How? Why?
Things have changed,
And will change,
Coronating is a game!
My ancient history
With many mysteries
Forms chasms, very deep,
Quite old and mundane.
I hear when whispers,
Many words in Cipher,
It cracks the secret:
“Coronation is a game!”
Taiwanese by her birth,
For chemo, was hairless,
She drove, came over…
She reached us right after,
We finished the job, then,
Meant to leave and depart.
“What is wrong? Am I late?”
Were her words, very first.
I told her, explained:
“We fixed the phone cable.”
Saw tears while she talked,
I asked her how she was.
On her cheeks two rivers,
Wore scarf, well-behaved,
Is sick with breast cancer.
Rejects her, her husband:
“Was six when came here,
To him, I, am useless…”
Spoke of her young son,
Government, also laws,
Relatives and friends…
Counts moments to fall dead:
“Not much left, am hopeless,
Each person has own life,
To fight for and survive…”
No ear, hand, or heart,
To help some half-alive,
In her, I heard a shout,
Deep in a cave, too dark,
Scarf, a mural on a wall,
In her eyes long mirage,
I gave her my biz-card:
“Please call if you must.”
For many, many years
The sellers of the faiths
Lied to do business...
Rabbis and Synagogues,
Bible, churches, bishops,
A mosque, mufti, mullah,
Are copied and pasted!
Some told us Arabic,
Is the tongue of Allah,
And Allah is their God.
For proof, read Koran,
Mentioning Abraham.
Whatever their basis,
Abraham is a lie,
Juxtapose with Sara!
The cheaters, charlatans,
Use these names to fool us.
Poor were our ancestors,
Since with will, pressure,
Accepted, then bowed yes.
Those who had rejected,
Faced sword, cell, or torture.
Sure, beyond all of these,
Cheap words and nonsense,
God must be if was or if exists.
He drives next to me,
It is funny how he sits.
The thick trunk of a tree,
Straight, un-moving.
Both his hands on the wheel,
Seems to hold a bad dog’s leash.
Only looks straight,
Knows not of right and left.
Such kinds of drivers,
Are quite dangerous.
All around
One can see,
Silhouettes
Of trees.
Hazy fog, beauty,
Beauty, beauty…
Listen well,
Can be heard,
Birds singing:
“Spring, spring.”
Suddenly,
And shocking,
Something comes,
It moves by crawling.
A train is rolling,
On metal, or railing.
Hundreds of wagons
Closing sight like a wall,
Dead colors, very dull.
Yes, modern, but ugly!
With beauty around,
I drive,
Feeling tipsy, drunk.
Gardens are to left-right,
And massive are the farms.
As an army, alone,
Eyes, ears are in fight,
Against the heart and mind.
Lost we are in haze, fog.
Not too far,
Over the there,
Sits a man,
On wood, chair,
Wears turban,
White beard.
Old man is Indian.
All alone,
By himself,
Feels lonely,
Abandoned!
Book, his mind,
Treasures,
In his heart,
All hidden.
Great are Twilight and darkness,
They help us to think and create.
Blackness, shadows, shades,
Parented the dread and fear.
Thanks to the dictators,
We have learned survival,
To mimic the chameleons.
The thick chains and shackles,
And the bombs and rockets,
With nooses, and gallows,
Showed us to camouflage.
They have and do tell us:
“Cautiously walk forward,
Be too short, yet concise!”
Twilight with darkness
Told us how to create,
Ambiguous, ambiguous.
If I were an artist,
With brush and canvas,
I would take the pencil,
And drew the contours,
Of very tall mountains,
Sun rising behind them.
Would get lost in colors,
And many, many shades,
Silver, pink, too deep red.
Then I would squat,
And stare at the sun,
Adore it’s coming up.
This would do if I were,
Master of the colors.
But I am a poet,
And with words, I play.
We play hide and seek,
School friends are in me.
I see words like comets,
Scare on arrival,
Then, fade and go away.
The Mountain
If compared with the Earth,
Is one dot…
In writing the letters,
Of many, many tongues,
There are dots.
With a dot misplaced,
Everything faces change.
A simple example,
The Tar, Bar,
And the par,
And the Nar,
In Farsi, or Persian,
All, are of two letters,
Every dot causes change.
Too many books are there,
They speak of Spain,
Through seas and mountains:
“Victorious, conqueror.”
The writers were rulers,
And many religious,
And some in business.
If not all, most of them,
Lied and lied in excess.
Guaman Poma of Andes,
An unknown, until then,
Was a dot discovered,
With him came the changes,
On Incas and Spain…
Washington, USA,
Killed, stole, and hid the,
Bells of the Balangiga Church,
Bodies of Bin Laden, and El Che.
Many write of Arabs,
And many, of Islam.
History has it wrong,
Neither one, neither one.
Their success has a root,
Injustice, injustice, injustice.
The Romans, Persians,
And others at that time,
Faced rulers and leaders,
That did wrong, injustice.
The people were tired:
“God, please send others.”
Clear was the case,
“Change, change, change,”
Not the “Who?” “From where?”
The message from a cave,
Was sweet, sounded well,
No one thought of the seif,
And the nomads on horses,
For killings and murders.
We witness very same,
Injustice, injustice, injustice…
Everywhere is the same,
In Iran, and U. S.
In Russia, and Ukraine,
Asia and Europe…
Young and old, all genders,
All cultures, continents,
We are bored and tired,
Of false laws and bad faiths,
Must be one, rise for change,
World needs peace and justice.
This is for a Totem in B.C.!
All seekers of power,
Repeated, Said the same:
“Make your world far better.”
The tellers wore garments,
Of soldiers, and the faiths.
And they lied,
All of them!!!
By looking at the Tsars,
Kings, Queens, and Royals,
Emperors, and their kind,
Popes, bishops, Rabbis,
And the Muftis, mullahs.
One can see,
They, all, lie!!!
“Scorch,” the truth,
A mother leaves her Will,
For the son and daughter:
“Find father, brother…”
And we see how bitter,
Are the rape and torture,
Abuse of child soldiers.
After years, a century,
A totem in B.C.,
Left museum, is returned,
To owners (First Nations.)
The chief says:
“Museums are like residential schools.”
I agree and approve,
What about the children?
And the bones exported?
(Boiled to lose fat, flesh!!!)
Hearing USA, Soviet,
Reminds me of that Fair,
And the Eagle and the Bear.
Encountered a woman,
When I went to attend,
To enjoy my weekend.
I with my classmates
In Lackland AF Base,
Studied, were settled.
I, unlike most of them,
Wished to go discover,
Lifestyles, and people.
Somehow went to the Fair,
Threw balls at the bottles,
Was amused and played.
Heard a woman behind me,
She whispered like whining:
“You are dumb and crazy!!!”
Turning around I saw her,
Young, she was pregnant,
Targeted, addressed me!!!
When we talked, my anger,
Easily, was replaced,
With calm and eagerness.
Spoke of her father:
“The U.S.-Soviets
Behave like two eagles!”
I felt child with a nanny,
Listened to her stories:
“The eagles lay two eggs,
After hatch, one of them,
For living, kills the other!”
I was a young cadet,
Too new to States,
Suspicious and afraid.
Dignified, confident,
She spoke, I, silent,
Lipstick was her pen,
And tissue, her paper.
Got me to her address,
Soon, the door was open,
She smiled, and I entered.
She was poor, and furniture,
Was handmade and wooden,
White covers, with cushions.
Am glad, feel lucky,
A teacher showed me the
Ugly sides of U.S.
Filthy rich are many,
And simple, plenty.
The journals, media,
Are liars and corrupt,
They polish the news,
To fool and brainwash.
Look at Buch Cassidy,
And walking in the rain.
See sales of armament,
Made by the murderers,
Vampires drink blood,
Of Ukraine, and Russia.
They were, both, Soviet,
Thrown out of the nest,
Are injured and in pain,
Then arrives Joe Biden,
For fanning war’s flame!
Living life in own shell,
May decrease problems,
Sure, with less pleasure.
Attractive is a garden,
With varied flowers,
Free birds break shells.
In Turkey, an earthquake
Killed thousands of people,
And those of Damascus
Felt almost the same pain…
But blind was papers,
And those of newscast.
Ignored poor, the News,
But next door, Israel,
Sent a bomb to kill more.
Oh, yellow journalists!?
Study Cuba, Manila,
Also, Maine and Spain,
They show and explain,
The games of journalists!
Oh, yellow journalists!?
Newborn, a baby USA,
Was against big Spain,
As the killer dictators.
Had opposed Britain,
Now, stood to Spain.
And yellow journalists?
Dreamland was just born,
People had consciousness,
Many were hard workers.
With news, politicians,
Ideas were not the same!
Study Cuba, Manila,
Also, Maine and Spain,
They show and explain,
The games of journalists!
Lena is a friend,
Her blood, of Ukraine.
She called me,
Asked for help.
I replied and answered:
“For sure am available.”
Then arrived a text message,
From Maya, her friend.
After a while, I found out,
Her husband disappeared,
Was wounded in the front!
Now, the wife of a soldier,
The missing in the action.
And I wrote to Maya:
“I respect our Lena.”
Borderless I am and,
Have friends in Russia,
And Europe, Asia…
What can I do or say,
If she is full of hate?
How can I listen to,
Her if insults, curses?
I must act like oceans,
Spacious with patience.
Does she know and accept?
What if she rejects them?
It is hard, yet love-filled,
To have deep friendships,
With many, borderless…
Jose Rizal says:
They bid me strike the lyre
so long now mute and broken,
but not a note can I waken
nor will my muse inspire!
And I see,
Gun in hands,
Maybe swords,
Nooses, or ropes.
I see the shadows obeying:
“Shooting, pulling to hang!”
And I hear the trigger!
Some are dead,
I know…
Who and why?
Whose order?
I am not in the cage,
No walls, nor in cells,
No borders,
No flag, no anthem,
No color, no gender,
No history, nor culture.
All are my siblings,
My sisters, brothers,
Children, or parents.
No more words can I awaken,
No more words can I awaken,
No more words can I awaken.
Why one cheats the other?
Why one kills another?
What right is in the order?
Why one pulls the trigger?
We, people of Iran,
Including Afghans,
Must clean up our minds,
From word of Islam,
That is tongue of mullahs!
They proved who they are,
Vampires, suck blood.
Wonder if the birds too,
Use the words for chirping,
Or lyrics when singing???
What about dogs and wolves?
Do they have words to bark?
What is the howling tongue?
I, always, keep thinking,
About words, when using.
Once I faced a drop
Just born of the clouds.
Speaking as friends
We talked of right and left.
Soon, we shared our dreams,
Birth to death, ways to live.
Neither knew of long past
The molecules, and atoms
That formed us as a whole.
And we were similar,
And we were similar.
We were, both, hybrids,
With others, relatives.
We, both hated borders
And the walls and the jails.
We, both, loved freedom,
Earthly life, humbleness.
We adored the generous,
Giving more, taking less.
Felt drop’s heart beating,
For running while going
To feed the farms, trees.
“Wait for me,” in my mind,
Meant to say, loud, in shout.
But did not; kept waving:
“Bye, and bye, my friend.”
In the clouds, seas, rivers,
See that drop and picture,
What went on, on that day.
How I wish I could be
A something, somebody
Well-defined, like a bridge.
But am not, I am like air,
Deep in a sea, am current,
Or maybe, I am an iceberg
In the plain, hills, mountains!
What is this shapeless shape?
Am I smug, a cloud, or a fire?
Possibly am Carbon monoxide,
Or maybe sizzling marshmallow!
How I wish that I was
In fashion, wanted Vouge,
And asked for chocolate
To take it with old wine!
My head is a container
And filled with the liquid,
Evidence of Higgs boson!
I feel that Eureka
And the God Particle!
Though nowhere,
I see me
Floating everywhere.
I walk with the engineer
Of the stealth bomber!
His son, my classmate
Stood up, defended
A camel driver.
That was me,
And remember, I will.
Reading books on women
I recall what she said:
“Pain of being a woman!”
In schools, church-fathers
Raped slaves, First Nations
Child workers, poor farmers,
Shipped British Orphans!
“Power bears corruption,”
Was said by Lord Acton:
“Absolute, absolutely!”
Feel phoenix, ash, and flame
In the wind, flake, and rain!
How I wish I were you
With life to fit in a room.
My wishes and dreams
In a bottle, tightly sealed.
But am not, cannot be,
Had opium, survive it!
With my feet on the seabed,
Raise my head to the heavens!
In times, love to escape
But I am tied and nailed
Metal noose grabs neck!
My need is not bread
Neither shirt nor jacket!
I love you and the others,
Regardless of your age,
Your genders, and cultures.
I care for the mammals,
To the worms, ants, snakes,
And all the creatures
On this Earth, in the oceans.
Meant to write,
Write about…
The fog in Abbotsford
Of B. C. Canada…
But she sings,
Sings of the past,
And is on the screen.
Oh, my Lord
What are these?
What is the soul?
What are the memories?
What is a thought? A dream?
I am lost in the fog,
Feel as if I am a rock
Am I sands at the beach?
Or dune in the desert wind?
Some write of love, romance,
Some write of the fall and rise,
Some write of their tummies,
Some people write nothing!
Memories on my mind,
Vertigo, I am lost,
In the fog of my thoughts!
And she sings.
And she sings.
And she sings.
With her song I picture
A mean court with blame.
Islamic government
Left no chance to live there,
Had to consult, then escaped.
Tehran to Chah Bahar,
Poor people in the flood,
Pakistan, then Dubai.
And she sings.
And she sings.
And she sings.
Every word in her song
Stirs my past, gives life
To the days, a long gone.
Reminds me of hiding,
Afraid of being caught
By the Sepah-Pasdaran!
Reminds me of Jamal
Smuggler, he drives…
Reminds me of Shir-Gauz
And how the dam was washed
All the farms, animals…
Reminds me of many encounters,
Mats of palm, and schools without walls.
Reminds me of meeting
Young and old refugees!
We varied, also shared
A common killing pain.
We were fooled by mullahs,
The Muslims with big lies.
Cherished some encounters,
We gathered as new friends.
In Dubai, met two brothers,
They sold Persian Carpets,
One Mansoor, one Naser,
Polite and quiet was latter.
And she sings.
And she sings.
And she sings.
Like a carved membrane,
Recall what Mansoor said:
“She sang, and I told her…”
Hayedeh is long dead
The same as her sister.
But she sings.
And she sings.
And she sings.
To Mansoor what happened?
The police reported:
“Found car in Umm Al Quwain,
Was damaged and left there!”
What about brothers?
Like the fog? Disappeared?
Naser’s wife came to me,
We chatted for hours.
And she sings.
And she sings.
And she sings.
With each word I hear
Birds fly in the air
I stare at their wings,
Feel drunk with dreams!
Every word from her
Penetrates as a dagger
In my heart and brain:
“What happened?
What happened?
What happened?”
Drinking my red wine,
Speak in an old tongue,
And address the sky.
Not with the Abraham
Or Moses, or their God
And neither with Allah,
With Ahura Mazda…
On my cheeks two rivers
And my eyes blood-red,
Under feet have a pond,
Which is filled with tears!
What is man, this evil?
I look at the women,
And the birds, and the wild,
And rivers, caves, farms,
See nothing but man’s wrong!
The worst evil is mankind!!!
Was busy with my love,
Listened to her heart pump
And stared into her eyes.
Her name is Juliet,
It makes me Romeo.
How I wish had a gun
With bullets, silver ones
To let me end my life!
When lovers die in love
Will have the longest life.
How I wish had a gun
With bullets, silver ones
To let me end my life
While lying in her arms!
For too long, I was wrong,
Thought I was free and strong.
In mother’s stories
We heard of barred, free
By shackles, walls, and blinds,
And the walls and handcuffs.
She talked of dictators
And the cruel governments
Taking the control
Of our mouths, eyes, and ears
As well as hands, arms, and legs,
“But your thoughts? Can never!”
“So, you are, always free…”
She said and we believed…
No, no, no
We are not…
Look at the Troika,
Three friends,
Iran and Russia, and China.
Search for the brutal
Troika comes at the top
Iran, China, and Russia.
They start and trace
Torturing the brains.
Each of us, to Troika
Is nothing but a number
Poisoned is consciousness.
Their rival governments
Are the Taliban, and Israel.
Oppressed are the women, Hazaras,
Palestine never survives genocide.
Uniform trauma is a killer!
Uniform trauma is a killer!
Uniform trauma is a killer!
Trauma’s origin,
Is a wound in Greek
But the badly misused,
To talk of the great pain.
Trauma, as I learned,
Reflects the trace that remains,
Of a wound in the heart or brain,
Upon the sighting, remembrance…
Some call me a veteran
I hate that…
That takes me on a tour
Of dreams and childhood
To my needs and manhood.
Uniforms haunted us,
The cadets, very young,
Not because of our love
But because needed jobs.
I never thought of wars
In my days, nor at night,
I hated shedding blood.
The soldiers are puppets,
Abused in the ugly games,
Planned by the warmongers
And the dirty politicians.
I witnessed three wars,
Pakistan’s and Dhofar,
As well as the Iraq-Iran!
Happily, out of touch
I was with killer guns.
But still, feel the guilt,
We flew the logistics,
Carrying soldiers, guns
And most of the supply.
We took men standing,
Brought bags on returning,
And caskets, and stretchers.
Uniforms to me are monsters,
The military or police, regardless.
Uniform trauma is a killer
Like the pains of slaves
Stolen, tied, and shackled.
Uniform trauma is a killer
Like what felt the Indians,
Lied to, and then insulted.
Uniform trauma is a killer
Like the pain of women
Forbidden to give birth.
Uniform trauma is a killer
Like the pain of parents
Sixties’ scoops, in reserve.
Uniform trauma is a killer
Like the pain of Hussein,
A hungry laborer, prisoner.
The soldiers, NCOs, officers,
Are fooled by the word “Veteran”
For shedding blood, and murders.
Read about the returning soldiers
From wars, genocide, and terror.
Uniform trauma is a killer!
Uniform trauma is a killer!
Uniform trauma is a killer!
TELUS acts as an Emperor
Is Majestic ruler, a dictator.
Emperor has gladiators,
Lincoln is one of them.
The latter is busy, prepares
For more fights, survival…
Strong, fearless, murderer
Seem to be the gladiators,
Inside the amphitheater!
What about Kathy’s case?
Let us see what happened.
Amy lived with Kathy
A co-tenant and a friend.
Both women used drugs,
One heavy and one mild.
Excessive injections
Took Amy and her life.
When alive, many times
Kathy murmured dislikes.
But after Amy died
Kathy became a caretaker,
And sister, and the friend,
She cried like her mother.
She had to handle the
Burial and the rest.
While Kathy was on leave
To handle Amy’s peace
Lincoln was brainwashed
Thanks to one gladiator,
A Lane-Tech, or an LTC!
I had gone for shopping
Vegs, fruits, and vitamins.
Saw the boxes of pears
Good looking, well managed.
The store did not sell
By the piece or single.
Bought one box
Brought home.
Had no time to eat but
A few, the rest are
Softening, browning.
That means
Can be rotting.
Have and will hate wasting
The harvest of hard work.
I never disrespect
The pain of hard workers.
Am in search of a way
That helps me preserve
Can consume them later.
Relatives and friends
Please come and suggest
A system to manage…
Promise to remain
Thankful and grateful.
From now to the end
Whenever set the table
I confess to conscious
Hate me for being a thief.
In a way
We knew what he did
His action was a theft.
No one talked,
Concretely silent!
Our silence by no means
Was a sign of politeness,
Indirect were our shares!
We are thieves!
We are thieves!
We are thieves!
In a way
We would share the harvest!
We are thieves!
We are thieves!
We are thieves!
We are the characters
Of Aziz Nesin
In a book about shoes
Of shoes of hay-seller!
We are thieves!
We are thieves!
We are thieves!
In a way
Every rich and the poor,
All of us can be thieves.
We are thieves!
We are thieves!
We are thieves!
By Fraser River
Of Richmond, Vancouver,
I stand and observe
Falling leaves, drizzle,
Shallow waves on the water.
They ripple and ripple
On the logs, like fishes.
Tree logs float and
Without roots or a head.
I adore autumn’s life,
Breeze comes beautifies.
The serene falling leaves,
Their dances in the rain,
And trips with the wind.
When departing, mothers,
The trees, undress,
Are exposed, get naked…
How I wish I could learn
To speak with the breeze,
With nature, and the trees
With alive and dead leaves,
On the water, in the wind.
I enjoy their concert
Wearing masks, scarlet,
They are soft and sweet.
No need to rush to judge
Think, think, think,
Think twice,
Before using your tongue.
Mosque and I have hardly
Been close, friendly…
Not because of building
But because of mullahs.
Yes, the time demanded
Use of a mosque as a base.
For a long I, an officer
Disliked ruling system
Of our Shah and his men,
They made him a dictator!
I never hid myself
Behind foolish actions,
Rarely lied, was open.
I read and met people
The poor and with riches,
Caravanserais and castles.
Most of the generals,
The closest to the shah
Lived in the palaces
Or villas with gardens.
They were like electrons,
The cloud orbits of atoms,
They rotated and stopped
In the Maison, here, there.
They censored and scissored
The facts and built curtains
Between Shah and the Nation.
And I was against the
Generals, ministers…
So, happened what happened
In thirteen, fifty-seven…
To me that incident
Does not have the same name:
“Revolution…”
It is right in the meaning,
The etymology of changes.
People were like drops
The drops made a flood,
A blizzard and the flood
Can take us to the skies.
Khomeini, a puppeteer
Surfaced like a dragon
At the head of the river.
His words could make fire,
They broke, washed away
All the hills and mountains.
Armed bases were looted,
People had guns, bullets,
And life was dangerous.
I heard some, jokingly
Talk about the injuries
And aiming and killing.
I had to do something,
Turned me into a sandbag.
I gathered some friends,
A truck with a loudspeaker.
Asked them to go to people
And be my messengers:
By giving my address…
I wanted each person
With a gun or bullets
To come to my place.
For too long an officer
I was the most experienced
To teach them how to repair
Or exchange guns and bullets.
We set a time, Two PM,
And exactly on the same day
Khomeini used the waves
To issue an order
Same as mine, similar:
“Take your arms deliver
To the closest Masjids…”
I was caught in the middle
Of the rivers and the fires,
So, I changed my address
To the closest Masjid.
We made a committee,
Not because we wanted
But because of the current.
As the head, commander
I was judge and justice
And all the government,
The highest to the lowest.
I was the police and banker
I was the shop, shopkeeper
Heard a lot and witnessed.
Our people were like a herd
Encircled by tigers
And there was no shepherd.
Life is tough whenever
Collapses government
Even if a shrewd dictator.
I do not remember
If saw her, knew her.
But she was a colleague
With a paddle, yellow suit
That I call banana…
We do what police des
Handling traffic…
But not I!
I, mostly, help the team
With whom we are working,
From digging to pulling,
Even to celebrate occasions.
But Amy is no more,
She is dead, she is gone
And Kathy is writing
A note for eulogy!
With tears on her face,
Kathy said:
“She copied, mimicked me,
And bought a blue dress,
She’ll wear it when she is
In the oven, being cremated!”
And I see behind these
Far away where the sun
Kisses the edge of Earth,
Horizon, horizon…
Dizzy and vertigo, I question:
“What is this?
Why happens?
Overdose and crimes?
Mass murders, genocide?
The dictator mullahs!!!???”
No reply…feel drunk…
It is hard.
It is hard.
It is hard.
It is hard to belong
To a land, to a ground
That floats on the blood.
Dear Mother,
My Iran, the ancient,
You are where I am from.
I know you, know your past,
I read and watch, and track
Your news also stories tagged
On daughters, girls-women.
I know of Anahita,
Gordafarid to Mahsa
All fighters, until now.
My lessons and advice
Are Rumi’s and Khayyam’s.
Feel proud of that cylinder,
The Cyrus’s Human Rights.
Read Saadi, memorized
His poem on care, Love.
With Hafez I fly,
With Sohrab, I come down.
With Khosrow I raise a fist,
With Nader, win the wars.
Me? Idle?
Cannot be!
Saw a truck, offloading
The bricks, when sixteen.
I saw the soldier’s bullet
Affirming the revolution
In nineteen seventy-nine...
It is hard.
It is hard.
It is hard.
At times see me in a cave
Without a torch or candle
Long are nights, forever,
And cannot concentrate.
Some men took the bricks
And broke, threw them
Hitting a group of soldiers,
They had guns and batons,
Fully covered with helmets.
Mercenaries raised their guns
And addressed the rioters…
Saw their blood scattered
And many fell, wounded.
I was on the bicycle
Saw it all and observed.
It was hard.
It was hard.
It was hard.
Then again, after years
Rose new rioters
And this time a soldier
Killed one of the guardians.
It is hard to belong
To a land, to a ground
That floats on the blood.
Bring an end, help me, God
I was a child, remember,
Mattress and the nights
In the heat of summer,
On the roofs and in open.
In the dark the mothers,
Checked on their children
To be sure are covered.
One of the nights a mother
Hosted her son and daughter,
Each married to a partner.
She passes by the son,
Partners are apart,
She murmurs:
“Get close, hug him tight.”
When passing by the daughter
Finds the couple in a tight hug,
She murmured to the lovers:
“Let her breathe, separate!”
The son’s wife says later:
“One roof and two climates!”
The same is with mullahs,
The murderers are brutal.
Who kidnapped the innocent?
Who made the chain of cells?
What about Guantanamo?
What about Trump likes?
Politicians, presidents?
CIA? Senators? Joe Biden?
What about the homeless?
And what of the hunger?
And the poor world around?
Is it not very same, ring a bell?
By reading Jane Austin,
Artisans and writes,
I picture Juliet,
Not that of Shakespeare,
But my own, the Janet.
She, the thief of my heart
Forty-two is crowned
As a child, well-mannered.
She, the great magician,
Is fun and devoted,
Is clown, comedian,
Also is my grandmother.
Follows the rules of love,
Is aware of our time,
And she is, most of all,
Residing in my heart
To be mine, only mine.
Looked alive,
Half faded.
White and red,
Rose was dead.
Gravitates,
Action less,
Beautifies,
It behaves.
Went close
Some steps.
Very young,
Seemed alive
But wintered
In autumn!
As black as a night
In the far, older times
She followed her senses.
Smart and clever,
She knew,
Food was there,
Even if out of sight.
I stood like artists
With brush and with paint
Staring at their subjects
At the shores or beaches,
Flowers, hills, mountains.
But thought of the poet
Writing of the Plums,
Wheelbarrow, in rain, sun.
As black as some lives,
Neither cried nor was shy!
She found her landing site,
Garbage bins of a house,
City of Coquitlam’s…
One was sealed, very tight,
Half-open, another one.
Used her tools, beak, and legs
With her wings and feathers.
She tried very hard,
She tried very hard,
She tried very hard.
Jumped on and flew down,
Went from side to side.
Life’s tunnel was too dark,
She, without torch and light.
Wonder if you ever
Had the time to listen
To the leaves, branches!
They do talk,
Speak soft,
Full of love.
They, also, complain
Of the mean, and careless.
I took time
And chatted with friends
Like bushes and grass.
They told me stories
As do the First Nations.
Was lovely and great
To hear how the first
Kernels, and the seed
Sacrificed to give birth
To crops and each herb
As well as fruits to nuts.
I told them that one day
I will go and join them
Colorful like the leaves,
That dance in the breeze.
We know not about why
The geese’ fly formation,
Their logic for V shapes
And about the conditions
To become the top leader!
We know not of ants, bees,
The heartbeats and feelings,
Their reasons for building
Their nests, hives, families!
We know not, not at all
And science tells us lies,
The scientists interpret
Like the blind journalists!
Therefore, we made a God
To have made seas and sky,
He is a magician, puppeteer
In thin air, and mountains.
Mazda is simplest, is Ahura,
And the worst is, Abraham’s!
The latter laws, advice:
“Slavery is authorized.”
Kathy came with tears
On her face two rivers.
She spoke of Amy:
“Died of the Fentanyl!”
Heard of Amy and Kathy,
Being friends, enemies.
Both, for work, did the same,
Both lived in the same place
Both enjoyed free sex...
And I do understand
The women’s lifestyle.
In distanced horizons
See scope to question:
“Why and how a woman
Can end up in such hell?”
Being a photographer
Going out, day by day,
Role models are lenses,
Focal point, wide, tele,
ASA with the shutter...
The good sight and angle
Correct light on a subject
And the chosen distance
Make the pictures perfect.
What about these women?
What about these addicts?
What about the homeless?
Can it be the man’s greed?
Our ego? Politicians? Politics?
Of us being eight Billion?
Soon will be like Mammoths!
See these words like water
In a bucket, on a hot desert day.
You who were in Tehran
In nineteen-seventy-nine,
Not idle, but involved,
Take some sips and recall.
I, Air-Force-captain,
Was a student in Tehran.
Studied electronics
In the College of Technics,
Of the oldest University.
“United, fight, will win,”
Students said, running
From campus to the street.
Laws forbade the police
To enter the schools.
We were caught and hunted
At the gates and elsewhere!
Even now, I can feel
The pain of slapping!
Camouflaged, a sergeant
Was hiding by the gate,
Slapping tore my earlobe
With his big golden ring.
The foreigners, our masters,
Mainly from the USA,
Packed, were gone, to be safe,
The chasm must be filled,
With ourselves; way too big!
I replaced the teachers,
Taught the Air Force cadets.
Veterans’ day’s columns
Are three elevens,
Day and month, and hour.
It is for recalling
The injured and the dead.
Being an ex-officer,
Take it as a reminder
Of a shame, damnation,
Yes, warlords, politicians,
Warmongers, arms makers,
War in their easiest business.
I was in three wars
Bangladesh and Dhofar
And Iraq with Iran.
I saw deaths, disasters,
Families that shattered,
The widows and orphans.
I saw the wasps, flies
When landing, taking off
On those killed, their blood.
And I lost my friends
That lost life, or legs, eyes.
The day of Veterans?
Veteran? What the hell?
Respecting once a year?
Ladies and gentlemen,
Forgive me, I want out!
To respect veterans
Search for the criminals.
They are the politicians
As well as warmongers.
No need to rush to judge
Think, think, think,
Think twice,
Before using your tongue.
Mosque and I have hardly
Been close, friendly…
Not because of building
But because of mullahs.
Yes, the time demanded
Use of a mosque as a base.
For a long I, an officer
Disliked ruling system
Of our Shah and his men,
They made him a dictator!
I never hid myself
Behind foolish actions,
Rarely lied, was open.
I read and met people
The poor and with riches,
Caravanserais and castles.
Most of the generals,
The closest to the shah
Lived in the palaces
Or villas with gardens.
They were like electrons,
The cloud orbits of atoms,
They rotated and stopped
In the Maison, here, there.
They censored and scissored
The facts and built curtains
Between Shah and the Nation.
And I was against the
Generals, ministers…
So, happened what happened
In thirteen, fifty-seven…
To me that incident
Does not have the same name:
“Revolution…”
It is right in the meaning,
The etymology of changes.
People were like drops
The drops made a flood,
A blizzard and the flood
Can take us to the skies.
Khomeini, a puppeteer
Surfaced like a dragon
At the head of the river.
His words could make fire,
They broke, washed away
All the hills and mountains.
Armed bases were looted,
People had guns, bullets,
And life was dangerous.
I heard some, jokingly
Talk about the injuries
And aiming and killing.
I had to do something,
Turned me into a sandbag.
I gathered some friends,
A truck with a loudspeaker.
Asked them to go to people
And be my messengers:
By giving my address…
I wanted each person
With a gun or bullets
To come to my place.
For too long an officer
I was the most experienced
To teach them how to repair
Or exchange guns and bullets.
We set a time, Two PM,
And exactly on the same day
Khomeini used the waves
To issue an order
Same as mine, similar:
“Take your arms deliver
To the closest Masjids…”
I was caught in the middle
Of the rivers and the fires,
So, I changed my address
To the closest Masjid.
We made a committee,
Not because we wanted
But because of the current.
As the head, commander
I was judge and justice
And all the government,
The highest to the lowest.
I was the police and banker
I was the shop, shopkeeper
Heard a lot and witnessed.
Our people were like a herd
Encircled by tigers
And there was no shepherd.
Life is tough whenever
Collapses government
Even if a shrewd dictator.
I do not remember
If saw her, knew her.
But she was a colleague
With a paddle, yellow suit
That I call banana…
We do what police des
Handling traffic…
But not I!
I, mostly, help the team
With whom we are working,
From digging to pulling,
Even to celebrate occasions.
But Amy is no more,
She is dead, she is gone
And Kathy is writing
A note for eulogy!
With tears on her face,
Kathy said:
“She copied, mimicked me,
And bought a blue dress,
She’ll wear it when she is
In the oven, being cremated!”
And I see behind these
Far away where the sun
Kisses the edge of Earth,
Horizon, horizon…
Dizzy and vertigo, I question:
“What is this?
Why happens?
Overdose and crimes?
Mass murders, genocide?
The dictator mullahs!!!???”
No reply…feel drunk…
It is hard.
It is hard.
It is hard.
It is hard to belong
To a land, to a ground
That floats on the blood.
Dear Mother,
My Iran, the ancient,
You are where I am from.
I know you, know your past,
I read and watch, and track
Your news also stories tagged
On daughters, girls-women.
I know of Anahita,
Gordafarid to Mahsa
All fighters, until now.
My lessons and advice
Are Rumi’s and Khayyam’s.
Feel proud of that cylinder,
The Cyrus’s Human Rights.
Read Saadi, memorized
His poem on care, Love.
With Hafez I fly,
With Sohrab, I come down.
With Khosrow I raise a fist,
With Nader, win the wars.
Me? Idle?
Cannot be!
Saw a truck, offloading
The bricks, when sixteen.
I saw the soldier’s bullet
Affirming the revolution
In nineteen seventy-nine...
It is hard.
It is hard.
It is hard.
At times see me in a cave
Without a torch or candle
Long are nights, forever,
And cannot concentrate.
Some men took the bricks
And broke, threw them
Hitting a group of soldiers,
They had guns and batons,
Fully covered with helmets.
Mercenaries raised their guns
And addressed the rioters…
Saw their blood scattered
And many fell, wounded.
I was on the bicycle
Saw it all and observed.
It was hard.
It was hard.
It was hard.
Then again, after years
Rose new rioters
And this time a soldier
Killed one of the guardians.
It is hard to belong
To a land, to a ground
That floats on the blood.
Bring an end, help me, God
I was a child, remember,
Mattress and the nights
In the heat of summer,
On the roofs and in open.
In the dark the mothers,
Checked on their children
To be sure are covered.
One of the nights a mother
Hosted her son and daughter,
Each married to a partner.
She passes by the son,
Partners are apart,
She murmurs:
“Get close, hug him tight.”
When passing by the daughter
Finds the couple in a tight hug,
She murmured to the lovers:
“Let her breathe, separate!”
The son’s wife says later:
“One roof and two climates!”
The same is with mullahs,
The murderers are brutal.
Who kidnapped the innocent?
Who made the chain of cells?
What about Guantanamo?
What about Trump likes?
Politicians, presidents?
CIA? Senators? Joe Biden?
What about the homeless?
And what of the hunger?
And the poor world around?
Is it not very same, ring a bell?
By reading Jane Austin,
Artisans and writes,
I picture Juliet,
Not that of Shakespeare,
But my own, the Janet.
She, the thief of my heart
Forty-two is crowned
As a child, well-mannered.
She, the great magician,
Is fun and devoted,
Is clown, comedian,
Also is my grandmother.
Follows the rules of love,
Is aware of our time,
And she is, most of all,
Residing in my heart
To be mine, only mine.
Looked alive,
Half faded.
White and red,
Rose was dead.
Gravitates,
Action less,
Beautifies,
It behaves.
Went close
Some steps.
Very young,
Seemed alive
But wintered
In autumn!
As black as a night
In the far, older times
She followed her senses.
Smart and clever,
She knew,
Food was there,
Even if out of sight.
I stood like artists
With brush and with paint
Staring at their subjects
At the shores or beaches,
Flowers, hills, mountains.
But thought of the poet
Writing of the Plums,
Wheelbarrow, in rain, sun.
As black as some lives,
Neither cried nor was shy!
She found her landing site,
Garbage bins of a house,
City of Coquitlam’s…
One was sealed, very tight,
Half-open, another one.
Used her tools, beak, and legs
With her wings and feathers.
She tried very hard,
She tried very hard,
She tried very hard.
Jumped on and flew down,
Went from side to side.
Life’s tunnel was too dark,
She, without torch and light.
Wonder if you ever
Had the time to listen
To the leaves, branches!
They do talk,
Speak soft,
Full of love.
They, also, complain
Of the mean, and careless.
I took time
And chatted with friends
Like bushes and grass.
They told me stories
As do the First Nations.
Was lovely and great
To hear how the first
Kernels, and the seed
Sacrificed to give birth
To crops and each herb
As well as fruits to nuts.
I told them that one day
I will go and join them
Colorful like the leaves,
That dance in the breeze.
We know not about why
The geese’ fly formation,
Their logic for V shapes
And about the conditions
To become the top leader!
We know not of ants, bees,
The heartbeats and feelings,
Their reasons for building
Their nests, hives, families!
We know not, not at all
And science tells us lies,
The scientists interpret
Like the blind journalists!
Therefore, we made a God
To have made seas and sky,
He is a magician, puppeteer
In thin air, and mountains.
Mazda is simplest, is Ahura,
And the worst is, Abraham’s!
The latter laws, advice:
“Slavery is authorized.”
Kathy came with tears
On her face two rivers.
She spoke of Amy:
“Died of the Fentanyl!”
Heard of Amy and Kathy,
Being friends, enemies.
Both, for work, did the same,
Both lived in the same place
Both enjoyed free sex...
And I do understand
The women’s lifestyle.
In distanced horizons
See scope to question:
“Why and how a woman
Can end up in such hell?”
Being a photographer
Going out, day by day,
Role models are lenses,
Focal point, wide, tele,
ASA with the shutter...
The good sight and angle
Correct light on a subject
And the chosen distance
Make the pictures perfect.
What about these women?
What about these addicts?
What about the homeless?
Can it be the man’s greed?
Our ego? Politicians? Politics?
Of us being eight Billion?
Soon will be like Mammoths!
See these words like water
In a bucket, on a hot desert day.
You who were in Tehran
In nineteen-seventy-nine,
Not idle, but involved,
Take some sips and recall.
I, Air-Force-captain,
Was a student in Tehran.
Studied electronics
In the College of Technics,
Of the oldest University.
“United, fight, will win,”
Students said, running
From campus to the street.
Laws forbade the police
To enter the schools.
We were caught and hunted
At the gates and elsewhere!
Even now, I can feel
The pain of slapping!
Camouflaged, a sergeant
Was hiding by the gate,
Slapping tore my earlobe
With his big golden ring.
The foreigners, our masters,
Mainly from the USA,
Packed, were gone, to be safe,
The chasm must be filled,
With ourselves; way too big!
I replaced the teachers,
Taught the Air Force cadets.
Veterans’ day’s columns
Are three elevens,
Day and month, and hour.
It is for recalling
The injured and the dead.
Being an ex-officer,
Take it as a reminder
Of a shame, damnation,
Yes, warlords, politicians,
Warmongers, arms makers,
War in their easiest business.
I was in three wars
Bangladesh and Dhofar
And Iraq with Iran.
I saw deaths, disasters,
Families that shattered,
The widows and orphans.
I saw the wasps, flies
When landing, taking off
On those killed, their blood.
And I lost my friends
That lost life, or legs, eyes.
The day of Veterans?
Veteran? What the hell?
Respecting once a year?
Ladies and gentlemen,
Forgive me, I want out!
To respect veterans
Search for the criminals.
They are the politicians
As well as warmongers.
Far away, overseas,
On island, a she thief,
Knows the way to steal.
I, here, silent, numb,
Try to behave dumb,
And enjoy bleedings.
Vampire she must be,
Her long fangs go too deep
In my veins, corpse, unseen.
My heart is in her palm,
She winds it and unwinds
Makes it pump and throb.
I have asked the angels
To be my messengers,
Go, enter her place:
“And tell her it is me.”
The Red Bird sent message:
“Keep loving Juliet…”
“But she is a stove
And I am a tinder…”
I replied in whisper.
“Wash your mouth and never
Speak so, complain…”
Ordered me The Red Bird.
BBQed and roasted
I feel by loving her!
But enjoy the moments
Of waiting, to meet her.
Hand in hand by the river
We share life then after...
Some people wonder why
I have been in and out
When talk is about the war!
Unaware, most of them
Act like saw, axe, hammer,
Judging a book by the cover.
I flew Hercules
In and out of borders,
Logistics and secrets.
Then, weighed the relations
Of Iran…USA…
Felt slave!
Felt slave!
Felt slave!
Two planes had number
Unlike rest, were coded,
In them had instruments!
On contours of borders
Of Iraq, their friends
We flew, recorded
Classified and cyphered.
This far, things were OK
But the shock came later.
Bald Eagle was master
And crew, were slaves!
None of us ever learned
Of the AWACs gathered.
We felt like the gardener
Deprived, not permitted
To use, taste his harvest,
I hated UFC, USA, CIA!
In the heart of mountains
I was child, innocent.
My dreams were simple,
Making love with nature.
Went around in gardens,
Talked with my playmates,
Goats, to lambs, and chickens.
The skies and parents
Changed my life, future.
Never thought of ending
In the jail, in Evin.
But I did…
Not that I had not seen
Not that I had not lived
Not that I had not read
I had in other ways…
I had had,
I had had.
But being handcuffed and
Beaten with blind bands???
With that jail I added
To the list of to do:
“When outside, if ever,
Speak of the tortures,
To you and to others,
Applied by the rulers.”
Wanted or unwanted
Learned from a jailer
Questioning a woman
Answering very firm
Like the roaring lion.
My left wrist tied to right,
Both my eyes in a blind,
I stood and faced a wall
Listening to their talks.
The man’s voice was dread,
Dictator’s, with power,
His judgements like Hitler’s.
But woman was smart
Prepared for the fight
Even when in handcuff
And of course, in blind.
“No that is not true…
That, I would never do…
I followed my husband.”
Every word that she said
Made me think of braves
And adored lioness…
Her words, behavior
Set fire to tinder
In me, gave strength
To fight back, be lion.
Now, Iran’s Government
Is popcorn on fire
Thanks to that strength.
Bravo to women,
Regardless of the ages,
Elderly to little schoolgirls.
The sun and the lion
On flag, our anthem
Of Iran, forever
Tell us of Iran’ debt
To women, the brave
Heroines and fighters,
The lovers and mothers.
Before comes the weekend
The members of ANVET
Do gather for the supper.
Evening, Friday,
I sat at the table.
Though at the same table
We are the tectonic plates,
Single Earth and the layers!
Many talked about pets
I remained calm, silent…
But maybe my eyeballs,
My forehead, eyebrows,
Reacted, were too loud.
I thought of my lambs, goats,
And the chicks, hens, and cocks,
In my head memories, donkey rides.
Waited till the dogs talk
Became the candlelight,
Then spit my words out.
Not too poor and not rich,
Had our house and we lived.
In the suburb of the city,
For going to school
I had to cross farms
Of the fresh produce.
There, among the gardens
Students were afraid
When alone, by ourselves.
My friend and guardian
Was my dog, she, female.
Punctual and well-behaved,
Strong, sharp, and brave.
Each morning’s school time
She arrived right on time,
And waited near our house.
With the dogs’ smell sense
She felt me on my way.
Walked with me to the end
Of the walls of gardens.
Looked at me for goodbye,
Each of us had our job,
I headed for school,
She became a phantom…
When, at noon, I returned
She came and appeared
Like Jennie of the bottle.
She left me at home and
We parted to own lands.
A day came, by sunset
I heard her complain,
Went close and saw her.
Had gotten pregnant,
Was in pain of labor
But could not deliver.
Saw her bag was half out,
She breathed very hard.
The amniotic sac stuck,
She spoke with her eyes.
Too young, a schoolboy
Thought of a kitchen knife,
Saw a blade in the bathtub.
The sac was for my cutting,
The bag’s water was freed
And with it came the babies.
I, still see her thanks…
Grace to women
To whom I owe
They taught me
But…
Did I learn enough?
Busy with Ezra Pound
And T. S. Elliot
The Cantos
And the Wasteland
...
I recall the works of
William Carlos William
And my professor
The Red Wheelbarrow
She talks of his poems
And about freckle
…
…
I see her
And see my mother
…
…
I picture them in my brain
Their enlarged pictures
Hung by memories’ nails
Are in large frames
There, far in the corners…
…
Their memories fly
In my head’s sky
…
…
I see them
In these words
The words, I read
…
…
And I read
And I read
…
…
From Ritual to Romance,
Imagism,
And that too is shattered.
…
…
And I hear
The shrapnel
Fall and scatter
…
…
And my mother
Leans against a wall
And gives us advice
And Priscilla
Our professor
Faces us…
…
…
She talks of cuffs
And blinds of the dictators:
“They cannot tie the thoughts.”
…
…
And she talks of Tropes
Juxtaposing
And defining
Correctly
Short and concise
…
…
And I read
And I read
…
…
And love women
Mother and sisters
Teachers, professors
And my daughter,
And the lovers too…
After heat, long drought
The chilly wind arrived.
She stood, very firm,
Half naked, uncovered,
Heavenly, full of colors
Attractive and silent.
Sun and I, two lovers,
Were in a race to own her.
With Sun’s rays in her hair,
Fell my jaw, mouth watered.
Jealously felt a shiver
And hated the sun’s rays.
Asked the clouds to come help
And save my scarlet,
And wash her with the shower.
Poured and fell raindrops
On my love’s silver arms.
Undressed my lady,
The tree shed her leaves.
I stood and observed
Her trunk, branches.
Her thigh, leg, pinnacles,
Goddess she, stood there.
Her leaves or her dress
Soft, sweet, fully wet
Lied on the Mother Earth
Like the girl’s-soaked skirt.
eye-catching
Colorful, eye catching
I saw life in painting
Done by the best artist.
You know not the people
Unless you know them well.
The base and foundation
To know them is Patience.
Think you are the center
In the oldest circle
Of ages and cultures,
Center loves borderless.
Normally my letters
Start with “Dear Sir.”
You, a mushroom, worthless
In this world, are some hay
And do not have value,
So, say: “Hey.”
You the beast, the animal,
Call you ‘Hey,’ then stop,
Why further, why go far?
Now listen, Khamenei,
I know you for decades,
from when has long past,
Then I fought the invaders.
Now, sitting, in old age
I look back and observe
That you and all mullahs
Are jackals and crows
Not lions and eagles.
I feel bad, embarrassed,
Lower head, I am ashamed,
Keep asking this question:
“Why did you trust them?”
I remember your book
That you wrote with friends.
It covered good research
About the time that Islam
Newly born, was to rise.
Another was the book
On Iran’s Amir Kabir.
Then I thought you, also
Are the parts of Iran
And sadly, I was wrong.
Wonder if you recall
When you were in exile
In hardship, and in Khash!
Talk about the meaner,
Were you, then, treated
Similar, like these days?
Surely not,
Not at all.
Then we who were free
Did not like, disagreed
With arresting people
To support the dictator.
But simple honest, kind,
We ignored old advice:
“Power corrupts...”
These days you, a fool in power,
With absolute power “A leader?”
Are in power absolute, a corrupt.
Now, listen, you devil,
“Thank you,” I may say.
Mankind’s life is like a ball
It rotates and evolves,
And brings days and nights.
Our ancient, rich history
With leaders like Jamshid
Also, had Azhidehak, a Tazi.
He used the youths' brains,
Fed ferocious snakes,
Made Fereidoon, Kaveh.
They brought peace and calm
Filled Iran with life, love,
Thank you Azhidehak.
In 1342,
Then I was sixteen and
A student and doctor…
Of course, had no degree
My work was from needs
In my life and the patients.
I worked in the pharmacy,
Bought and sold medicine,
Stitched, did the dressings,
Injected both I. M. and I. V.
Once boss called, asking me:
“G to, the Shahbaz Street
And alleys for the shootings.”
I jumped on the bicycle,
Was very fast, peddled.
Saw the grocer of Shahbaz
And the police with the gun.
The grocer closed his shop,
Decide to leave, run,
Find a place, safe, and hide.
The bullets of the police
Riddled that grocery.
Teenager and an adventurer
I biked and went farther,
Sought for more, and excess.
Though had seen Coup d'état
When I was six, or five,
And had been beaten hard
In my head, legs, and arms,
Was eager to find their cause.
Finally, I ended
At the bazaar, where people
Had amassed in numbers.
They shouted slogans
With flags roaming around,
Watched a truck with bricks
Stop, and offload cargo.
Some broke the bricks
Some threw the stones
At the police by an arch.
The police were grouped
Wore helmets and to gear,
Armed, ready, well-settled.
I saw that one object
Hit and hurt one of them.
The injured turned around,
His index toward his boss,
Seemed to say in anger:
“Allow me to shoot them.”
Suddenly around me
Fell people, as if wheat
Cut by a sickle, a machine.
Blood covered the street,
Injured were plenty…
Motorbikes, tricycles
And many vehicles
Took the injured away
From the guards, police.
The rebels knew of the law:
“Let the injured lie to die,
Here or in the hospitals,
Then a dig pond, bury them,
In a huge mass grave.”
With many killed, escaped
The ember was ash-covered.
Prisoned and exiled
And many lost their jobs,
Some ended worlds around.
The revolving Earth, Sun
Saw the years go and come.
In Iran, around the Shah,
Slaves-likes kept bowing,
The corrupt were massing,
Both happy and unhappy.
We read books secretly,
Wrote in codes and hiding.
Came 1357
The phoenix retained life
And loud-voiced slogans
Sparked, boiled in a shout:
“Martyrdom and the jihad.”
Now, again, I am there
Like when I was sixteen,
Six or five, and between
And beaten by the police
Injured nose, and bleeding.
Now watch me in the mirror,
Feel like seeing a big bear,
Full of care, brainless.
My friend is asleep,
And a fly bothers him
It hovers over him...
Intending to hush the fly,
I go and find a huge rock
To hit and kill the insect,
But I kill my friend, instead!
The copper is replaced,
In cables, by fiber.
The fiber is made of,
Partially, plastic,
Covered with plastic,
The NAP is plastic,
The box is plastic,
To open conduits,
Rotors are plastic…
I doubt that a worker,
Engineer or simple,
To the truck drivers
That work to earn bread,
Can have time or knowledge
To think of plastic!
Media and the experts
Speak; are permanent
In talking of Oxide,
Monoxide, dioxide,
And smoke in the air
Pollution, death of Earth.
What about the questions:
“What made oil? Origin?”
I, the child of Iran
(The second gas owner,
And an oil exporter,)
Think that oil is ancient
World, nature, ancestors
That died and are extinct,
When buried, compressed,
They became the crude base.
I observe that people
Concerned are about oil,
What about plastic?
Will that too be extinct?
For years, lived in Dubai,
What if I had remained
And dealt with the tires,
Spare parts, Mercedes.
Wonder if would have guts
To do what I have done.
Was helpful to the others
With the trucks, storage,
Exchanging the labels
On the items purchased
From those forbidden,
Like the United States.
We ordered, printed
New and false labels.
Saw the Tehran’s mullahs
As donkeys, a few dumb,
We repacked the items
And put in containers
With new manifests
And shipped them to Iran.
Brainless has a tongue
To bray, howl, bark.
Said no to fax machines
To toughen censoring,
Kill the nation’s liberty.
I opposed such choking
So joined in smuggling.
I bought and imported
Many parts for buyers
Forced into a darkness
To converse in silence,
By signal and cyphered,
Send info, add knowledge.
We, unlike politicians,
Kremlin to Europe,
Washington, U.S.A.
Do not bomb to murder,
Talk of peace, are friends.
We are five, a mixture
Of Iran and Ukraine,
A combined, Norwegian.
Combined asks:
“Which blood?”
Has roots in the Vikings
And Ireland, Scotland,
To France and German,
And Cree, Ojibway,
Comanche and Mohawk.
We are all united
In oneness, borderless.
To know where you head for,
Natives say: “You must know
Whereabout that you are…”
Far better is knowing
The base you came from.
A young girl saw and filmed
George Floyd under the knee.
Video went viral,
And shivered the spine
Of rulers in the White House.
A young girl named Mahsa
Was murdered, lost her life
Based on the laws of mullah.
Her death has done the same,
It broke the silence
And shattered the mountains,
Rolled them down the rivers.
No more girls are afraid
Of the mullah’s turbans.
Wish I was a painter
With brush and canvas.
If I were I would paint
One huge rock mortar,
Like ours in the village.
It would be from rock,
Majestic, a well-carved,
Quite large like a pond,
Sat the people around it.
Inside it poured almonds,
And colored shells brown.
Everyone would have a
Long stone as a hammer
To break almond shells
And take out the kernel.
This is what people did
For work, fun in winter.
In this way summer work
Would finish in the winter.
Spring would be a time
To sell those to market.
There, life meant rotation
For the Sun, for the Earth.
Life is greater and simpler
For farmers and shepherds
In the farms and mountains.
I would be one of them
Had I not left the village
For the survival courses
That made me an officer,
From whom made a pilot.
It was some cold winter
And we lived in the village.
At home as a small child,
I heard my mother’s call,
Emphasizing my name.
I ran and looked at her,
She asked for some carrots.
During the fifties,
No freezer, fridge,
Natural was storing.
Went to the veranda
And stared at our yard,
Everywhere, everything
Was under snow, white.
My body felt the chill
And shivered my spine.
Saw every farm, garden,
And plain, and mountain
White and snow-covered.
Saw the brides on canvas,
Snow-White, flawless,
The clouds in the skies
Held sugar, meant to grind.
I recall that picture,
See snow particles
Floating in cold air.
No longer, see, hear
Around me the jackals,
Nor foxes, nor eagles.
Wild mammals are scarce,
Nature beats on her chest.
I, a boy, four or five
Obeyed mum, went outside,
Then headed for the plot
Where my dad buried, dug
For the beetroots, turnips
And potatoes, carrots.
Using my small hands
I brushed the snow
And frozen mud earth,
Came steams, and I felt
It smelled nice and fresh.
Looking back, remember
Way of life in the village,
I miss that simplicity.
Now, here, in the city
Drive and go shopping
In packs are everything.
Frozen, canned, in bags,
On them have the stamp:
“Produced, expires…”
I pick and throw them
In the cart, pulp paper,
Unhappy, then murmur:
“Ignore it, what the hell,
Close eyes on this mess!”
Miss bushes, flowers
And flights of the birds
And the wolves and tigers,
And the midnights’ howls.
Miss pure white snow
In flakes and powder
And storms, blizzards!
Hate living in pampers,
Love living like braves.
News says: “Cousin died.”
His name was Seifollah.
We have met, in our lives
Far less than fifty times,
But still, share blood.
And I think,
And I read.
In Iran war goes on
The youths against mullahs.
And I think,
And I read.
And I wish I did not,
And I wish I could not.
Easily I accept:
“Ignorance is bliss.”
How I wish I was deaf,
How I wish I was dumb.
Hear this every day:
“Living is too bitter,
For the old, and aware,
When lacking everything!”
And still, crazy,
Keep thinking,
And reading,
And writing!
How I wish was like her,
A colleague named Karen.
She thinks she is the world
And others don’t matter.
She swears and gossips,
Selfishly sells her colleagues.
And of course, believes in
Being the best, most perfect.
By the windshield of her truck
She has hung a black cross.
Has tattoos on both arms,
One for dad, one for the dog.
She wants all for herself,
Does not care for neighbors.
Limited in knowledge
Knows of cones, delineators,
Thinks she is some professor.
Ignorance is bliss.
Ignorance is bliss.
Wonder why those like me
Read Dante's Inferno
And Milton’s Paradise
And the past until now
Oppositions, left and right
To the heavens and stars
And about the nations,
Continents, Black and White
To Gulag, Siberia,
To Kremlin and Peking,
Da Vinci in the Louvre,
And Catherine’s Hermitage.
Ignorance is bliss.
Ignorance is bliss.
Ignorance is bliss.
But still, crazy,
Keep thinking,
And reading,
And writing!
With Iran at the top
Of news, I am kebab.
I read and receive calls
Exposing: “Brave Girls,
Losing lives, sacrifice.”
Some take it as news,
Some read the slogans,
See writings on the wall.
I shiver and recall
Rebels of old revolts.
I remember bullets,
I observed men, women
I saw the mosque, crowds
And saw deaths and injured.
I miss my classmate,
Bahardoost disappeared
When we were children.
I saw the innocent,
I talked with unaware
During, after shah.
To record all of them
Or to write about them
I may need the forests
And many, many birds
To make tons of paper
As well as quills to pen.
One of them is Ebi,
Friend of many years.
We met at Air Force Base
Then, became officers,
And flew Hercules
And became good friends.
One morning, in Tehran,
Went to squadron…
Everyone was silent,
I said hi, no answer.
I became suspicious
Till kind of overheard
Ebi’s name, a whisper.
Soon after discovered
That was shot by rangers,
Puppets of government.
Asked about whereabouts
Nobody knew, talked…
Someone said hospital,
I jumped into my car.
Drove fast, non-stop,
A foot in, a foot out
Was among a crowd.
Everyone was searching
For their loss, were worried.
Each had lost somebody
To the guns and shooting
Of the monsters, Sepahis!
Wearing my flight suit
Most people respected
And led me to a nurse.
On the pole nearby
A list had many names
Ebi was among them…
I spoke with one nurse,
Politely, and questioned
About what had happened
To my old, old friend…
He made it clear
That Ebi was killed, dead.
His body with corpses
Was sent to the coroner.
He would be buried as
Apostate and worthless!
Promptly, thought in mind,
Had to rush and decide.
Called Mansoor Khotami
The head of personnel
And told him that Ebi,
Has been shot, is a victim.
Smart and clever
My friend, the major,
Helped us like an angel.
He sent the ambulance,
Removed and transferred
The cold body of my friend
To the Air Force headquarter.
I shifted direction
To face the collision
With Ebi’s co-thinkers.
He was a communist,
Had gone to raise a fist
To help the mullahs end,
But we said something else.
“He went there to buy milk
For the daughter, baby,
And was aimed by mistake,
So, he is a martyr…”
His uncles, brothers
Kissed me and accepted.
Tavarishes and comrades,
Scolded me and cursed.
We arranged many to
Follow him to the grave.
I broke, raised my voice,
Shouted at the murderers.
Mohammad, our friend
Took me to the distance
Far from the earth, grave.
I saw the hands and legs,
Not buried, no owners,
The bodies were butchered!
Can ever write all these?
Will ever? Shall I? Will?
Many things, for too long,
During, after shah,
World around, in Iran,
During peace and war…
To do so need ocean
For the ink and all birds
For quills, and forests
For making the papers!
I saw my classmate
Go away, disappear,
And remember teacher
Insulted as the suspect
And I saw that the bricks
Were taken, broken
Then thrown at gunners.
Then, police with the guns
Using their firearms,
Shot people to the ground,
Killed, injured, and in blood.
Born in mountains, village
And live in Vancouver,
Have seen lots of changes.
The start was one culture,
Now life is expanded,
Bundled are languages…
Many ask: “Which is the best?”
I repeat my answer: “It depends.”
Change skin, live like them,
Use your heart with changes.
Everyday test myself,
Looking in the mirror,
Verify my judgment.
Compare shelters, chalets,
Tepee life with the castle,
A horse cart, with a plane.
Then smile and answer:
“It depends.”
When thinking about bed,
“On the bus, in a hotel?”
“In a desert or in a cave?”
“On a rock, on the water?”
And smile once again:
“It depends.”
Think of meals, digestion,
Restaurant? In the kitchen?
Recall life in the village
With roosters as rulers.
The pigeons turned teachers:
“Equal is a woman with a man.”
In a film festival
Some actors of the world,
Italians and French; many more
Sympathized with the girls in Iran…
Took scissors,
Cut their hair.
I think of the Parker,
Cynthia,
And the myths,
As well as the history
Of great and ancient old Iran…
Farangis, a Turkic Princess
Married the Iranian Siavash,
Good looking man of peace.
Powerful, crazy, his father
Was king and risk taker…
Two fathers, dreamers,
Enemies forever…
Long after we see that Cynthia
Is married to Peta Nocona…
She was White, Christian,
He, savage Comanche, pagan.
Both husbands were killed by
Families of their wives,
And women cut their hair!!!
Today’s fights, resistance
Seem to be the exact same
In behaving, movements.
Wonder if girls, women
Who brave and cut hair
Know of past character!
This is not a poem
It is an honest letter.
My letter is open,
Addresses the leader!
Truly, is a leader?
Or a mean dictator?
Our demon, murderer,
Walks the path of Hitler.
Possibly remembers
Time of Shah, freedom
As well as advancements.
I taught in the Air Force,
Wore beard, had long hair
And saw my students’
Worrisome, the wandered,
Came to me and sought help.
The night before, general
Gun in hand, came fired,
Arrested eight cadets.
“Freedom, freedom,”
Shouted their classmates.
Iron-Guard was outside
Fully armed, with trucks.
Soldiers had to obey
Whatever master said.
Hear me, you, soldiers,
A bullet left the muzzle,
And kissed some guardian,
Splashed head, shoulder,
Arrested were the leaders
The nation was a winner,
That day is “The D-day.”
It is hard
Hard to write
To write of
Childhood
School
Growth
Migration
And migration
And migration
With no destination.
No firm settlement
Unless like a particle
Of the dust in the air.
The end can be, desert
Or in a cemetery, a grave.
Maybe not even that
Maybe in a river
Or possibly
In a sea, in an ocean
Or under a tree
Or, if unlucky, in a bin
The bin of garbage
Somewhere,
And still in migration.
I recall
Being a farm boy,
Not going to school
Though we had one.
Father wanted me to
Be like my brother.
He lived in the city
But came home to visit.
He talked of the school
And taught me the letters.
Encouraged me
to repeat the English alphabet.
He, proudly, had me repeat them,
And I did so, as do the parrots.
And I knew nothing of them
And I was a chimpanzee!
But homeschooling
Taught me the Koran
And know not how!
Maybe I had talent,
Maybe was intelligent,
Maybe my parents,
Maybe from the birds,
Or thanks to the earth,
Or the mountains,
Or maybe the fresh air.
How?
Know not!
Came time for migration,
Thanks to the flood
And thanks to the clouds
That looked the same
Like thunderstorm,
But I know them now.
Clouds are different
With different names
The mushroom ones,
The watery ones,
The Cumulus,
The nimbus!
Then, in the summer,
We were camping
And came rain
As come the locusts.
We had plucked the fruits,
Had halved the apricots,
Had removed the pits,
And laid their flesh,
Laid on the mattresses
Made of the wheat stalks
To dry for the wintertime.
But the clouds?
And I
A boy of around five
Was beheaded
And transported
Like a Christmas tree.
I was never the same
Never again...
Now, decorated
With the ornaments
Like the bulbs,
The cane candies,
The angels,
I had many birds.
What about the demons?
And the devils?
They exist
Though not shown
And are hardly talked of
Except in the
Religious books
And by the ministers.
The minister who
Want us to do
As they say
Not as they do!
And in the city
I was not taught
Absent were the words
And I grasped them
Thanks to observation!
And I,
A five-year-old boy
Worked
In the bazaar
For the metal smith
And for the cooper.
We half-filled the
Copper pots with gravel
And added water
Then stepped in them.
And a sort of danced
Which was not dance
But cleaning the germs.
Later, the master
Took the cotton
With the lead
And…
And shined the inside,
Silver like!
And I worked for
The hat maker...
We soaked the wool
In the liquid with soap...
And mended the chinaware.
And worked for a shoe seller.
And the flood
Had caused famine
And Iran got help
From others.
And I learned about the politics
Without knowing the politics
And I learned that shah
Or his men
Were puppets of the USA.
They were some clowns
That live in Washington.
I saw them not
Learned that those
In the politics
Are scarlets
Like those in brothels.
And again migration
After a coup
Against an elected Prime Minister
By the US puppets!
And still
No schooling
Except for the school of life
That had forced me to refuge.
And in Tehran
Working in a grocery shop
I was beaten like a dog.
I learned from the insults
Aimed at me by the city boys.
And my tool to fight was
My village-oriented body,
Strong and fearless.
I learned to work
Like a muscle
And fight like a tiger.
And grew strong
And was accepted
Even adored
As smart.
Limited by my duties
To work
And by age
I was led to a night school.
And my classmates were old
Some, as old as dad
Mostly, older than my brothers.
And the words
In the textbooks
Were difficult for me
And for my age
They were for mature
And about the city
And about the police
And about the gendarmes.
And my master was my brother
Owner of the grocery shop...
He broke the lid of a pencil
In my right small finger,
Out of anger.
And there
One of our neighbors was
The principle of
A primary school...
He insisted that I should be
Permitted to go to school.
Once again,
More experienced,
A few years older,
I became a victim of another
Refuge and another migration.
I landed in the village,
Somehow with myself
And with my older sister.
She was engaged
And followed the culture,
Better not to travel.
Our mother
With her brood scattered
In different cities and places
Took care of her children.
Her other children
Scattered around.
And father worked
No more for himself
But for the others.
And I saw my parents
Only when available,
Randomly,
And on occasions,
Whenever, if ever!
I attended school,
According to my age,
I was in third grade,
Not a first grader...
And I had no textbook,
I could not afford it
So, followed my brother,
The school-going one,
Ahmad is my role model.
I trained students
The less smart ones,
Those with the books.
That was the foundation of
Many future schools,
More teachers
And more mentors,
More learning,
And more supporters.
And then came
Degrees and diplomas.
Rest of tale for later.
Imagine having walked
For very, very long,
In distance, and in time.
Too tired, exhausted,
You sit and squat,
Lean against a mud wall.
Too grand, wide sky,
You look at the clouds.
Suddenly, Zoroaster
Speaks of Ahura,
In art form, dust, brush.
A painting on a wall
Forms a huge mural
And in it, you crawl.
Rushes in your teacher,
You, the young student
Listen to what she says.
She recites a poem
On crow and eagle.
Injected with pride
You fly to skies…
You flap wings, soar high,
And lift the mural
Like the eagle, she taught.
Now, you the small dot
Become ash on ember!
Breeze comes,
Egg hatches,
A phoenix,
Your picture,
Soars; climbs.
Curious, we had gone,
For learning how to fight,
Neither with gun, nor knife.
Too learned were mentors,
Expanded our knowledge.
We, silent and polite
In the lanes, on the ground,
Sat and lent our ears,
Overheard the motorbikes.
The riders made much noise,
Like these days in Iran
The audience felt uncalm.
The bikers of mullahs
Using chains, attacked us.
Some, like me, hid leaflets,
Most others chose escapes.
A baker gave shelter:
“He is our customer.”
There, I in safety,
Observed the escapees
Behind them rode bandits.
Home after a tough day,
Meant to rest; go to bed.
Suddenly came a call
From the hospital…
The nurse said, secretly:
“Come here urgently…”
I went there and lifted
The injured wife’s sister,
Saving her from the grave.
Unlike his ancestors,
Is free, not slave…
But he is enslaved,
Jamaican, for shelter.
Here, he works two shifts
Late at night, then morning.
His blood African
Does not know Africa.
Autumn is the season
Of the moody changes.
It makes me recall the
Go-go dance with beer,
Evenings of Wednesday.
Silently I observe
King, queen, pretend
To be the greatest.
Am aware of the Fall,
Brutal, waves goodbye
To the sun, summertime
And invites grey clouds.
Fearsome brings death,
To mothers of jungles,
Adding to the grievance.
They go on a strike,
Not to feed any child.
The trees, now shameless,
Duplicate the Sirens
Of the myths, of oceans.
Odyssey of Homer
Reveals the Circe’s way
Of singing for the lovers.
She dressed scarlet
Like clowns on canvas.
Most trees do the same
Show skin, strip,
To welcome the autumn.
They drop all the leaves
In the dancing breeze,
In the shower, or in wind.
In the mirror of my car,
The one on the left side,
The trees looked many,
Mostly pine, evergreen.
One branch was leafless,
Like some reed, straight.
On it sat a calm bird,
Head to tail in feather
Brownish and covered.
Both of us kept silent,
Curiosity was endless.
I remembered Carlos,
William’s wheelbarrow.
The night was very dark,
The buzzer rang too long,
On my phone, a message
Showed an Amber alert!
Another Dawn Walker,
The kidnapper is a mother.
A mother risking her life
Means to find or unite
With her lost dear child.
These women take me to
That woman, the Bulgar.
Back at home, a lawyer,
Now was an immigrant,
In Toronto, jobless,
Struggled like loners,
And always lost battles.
Diagnosed bipolar,
“Is unfit,” said a judge:
“To care for children!”
The judges and lawyers
Can deprive the mothers
To see their children…
What are such words but sound?
Out of mouths, written, carved?
Who talks of right and wrong?
Who dictates, who decides?
In my veins boils the blood,
As if the wind in high clouds:
“Who is an elder, judge
To decide, set the laws?”
One showed me a blind
With scale, on the wall:
“Law is carved on a rock
Feeling less, with no heart!”
Amelia was a McLean
Abd authored a great book.
Her words are priceless,
To me the Torah, or Bible.
They speak of the past,
Is research about facts.
It shows us the plains
And the lovely people.
Rebels of the Frog Lake,
In time, took her hostage.
Settlers’, Whites’ papers
And the rulers, soldiers,
Added the salt, pepper,
Kept fanning war’s fire
And blamed the Indians.
Lies were told, scattered:
“A mother, her daughters
Are forced to undress
And raped by Red-Savage.”
Shocked women, children,
Heard nothing but whispers
And believed the governors.
Long after the dust settled,
Hostages resurfaced,
Were kept in the barricade.
Her father needed the job
So, talked for Hudson Bay
And walked with ministers.
She got married, a woman,
Changed McLean to Pagent
And wrote about the plains.
With the Taliban
In nineteen-ninety-nine
Forcefully left Iran,
Lived amongst Taliban!
Was afraid, on the run,
No permit to read, write,
Left good past far behind.
Remembered my stars
On shoulders, and flights
Over the Persian Gulf…
Recalled the Dhofar’s fights
Between the left and right
And Iran was involved!
I was a dog, of the dog,
Liaison officer
In Oman and Amman,
We pleased Pentagon!
Fell the Shah off the thrown
And came time for mullahs,
We became the milk cows
For vulture, jackal, fox,
They lied and blamed us:
“Are agents for abroad!!!”
The ancient VIP
Lives like the rats and mice,
And his age has made walls,
Feel ignored, seen as none.
Most news that read, watch
Dilute the wrong with junk.
Trump went, came Biden
To spend more taxes,
Threatens non-Yankees
With drones and bombers.
Early in the morning
Walking dogs are masters
And we are near a church
With parking that charges.
He sleeps coverless
His cart is full of junk.
I stop and stare
In my heart am concerned
Inside me run questions:
“With wealthy government
We have homeless here,
How can we accept it?”
Broken, with tears
Go away, am hopeless.
Most pages are covered
by Queen’s
Articles and pictures…
In my mind, things differ
See many in the jails
And a boy is shot dead
In Iran’s revolution…
Palace guns aim at the air
He was shot with a bullet…
She lived on our money
His murder caused pity.
Pregnant, his mother
Went to and attended
A wedding that ended.
Everyone clapped, sang
And the guard, a young lad
On a road, Tehran’s night,
Kept shouting, said: “Stop!”
Nobody heard, nor cared
Out of gun, ran bullet,
Landed in the boy’s head
On mum’s lap, his brain!!!
Everywhere I glaze,
Miseries are framed,
See movie theatres,
Of velvet are curtains.
Silently, sit, observe
Hers and his behaviors,
Feel drowned in wonders.
The poor boy, innocent,
Fell to the meanest death,
But Queen’s is a question!
It is hard to write right,
Be honest, and forward.
Politics kills thousands,
And people are silenced.
With a keyboard and a mouse,
I raise my voice, want to shout.
The world knows, is aware
Of the Cree brothers
That stabbed in a rampage.
I stop, use my mind,
Full of tears are my eyes,
My heart beats like a drum,
Keeps singing its death song.
What happened?
Why? And the cause?
Soars eagle in the sky,
Flaps wings:
“Why? Why? Why?”
Kids were born in reserve,
No school, future,
Deprived feels is in jail,
Watched TV’s daily shows
Saw actors, red carpets
And dreamt of success…
Traveled and researched,
As a guest have mingled
With the poor, rich people
In their tents and castles,
And deeply feel them.
Journalists and papers,
Egoistic, seeking fame,
Print wrong on a canvas.
Stalin choked the cultures
Of the colonized Soviets,
On flame books of ancient
Heated the baths to houses,
To the time of Gorbachev...
Capitalists, Westerners,
In surface talk of help,
To turn Marx into ashes
By killing the Soviets…
No one talks of borders,
New flags and anthems,
Ukraine is an exception.
Media, governments
Are the vicious vultures,
Their hands are extended
For taxes, donations,
To shed the blood of others
In the distanced borders,
And hide facts, sweep them
Right beneath the carpet.
As a friend to victims
I try to help them
To fight these disasters.
Media, governments,
Expand on the angles
That keeps us blinded.
Among the examples
Have Soroush, a poet.
He was born on a border,
Of the Tajiks, and Uzbeks.
The flags and the anthems
Took his home and father.
Such were the stabbers!
Grandma, great Earth,
Forgive me, am guilty.
Yesterday, tied a knot
On a bag, in it cobs,
Corn skin and greens.
Grandma, I know well,
Was your food, I waisted,
Threw them in the garbage.
Feel like two brothers,
Cornered, raised in a Reserve.
Men stabbed and murdered,
Embarrassed their nations!
Of nations says, Russel:
“The cultures were murdered
When tepees were lowered,
And the poles made ashes!”
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.