A Drop Can Be Lost

A drop can be lost
On window, on a leaf, dead, alive
But few make a line, run to fall
The drops in group can grow to army
Run, flow, make stream, a river and flood
Then a dam, will have leak, and break
And the rocks and trees and village and cities
Lives taken of the men, animals…
And graves…

The same is in learning.
One word is great jewel and bless.
Two and more make sentence.
They bring joy, distress.
They can cause enmity, and friends.
Sad; remains stress.

What mom said in childhood meant the world.
Contrast with culture and the time and approved.
Omar, a Caliph of Islam, turn woman, pregnant
Had two sides; miracle of Ali who cursed him
And insult: “You’re devil in God’s eye.”

That drop of learning
(Like the dogs in the box that spoke)
And others, one by one
(Like some men having sex with the child…”
“The poor child’s butt’s skin had peeled off…”
Was bless and was jewel.

But drops kept coming, now flood…
I, no more, small child of Iran, do suffer.
The Jewish is not what she told me.
Neither is radio.
Nor Omar’s is her way…she’d made up.

I wish I, had remained the same child.
I’d hear from mom, “Fatima Khatoon Jan, the poor gal… …
Man was found under rock, he was killed…
Your uncle committed suicide…and much more.”
Lucky is small ant on the leaf in Rumi’s, shouting “Flood”.

by Nassy Fesharaki

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