by Nassy Fesharaki
Esfahan is the city where I lived as a child
I was there for some months, since flood.
Like the yarns for carpets, I took form
In big pots they were put, were boiled
Colours in many shades deeply ranged
From red and maroon to the pink, grey.
Then on roofs and on bars and ladders
They were hung side by side, or apart
City was colourful as if Eid’s presents
(Roasted crops, the saved and availed.)
Colours base collected, harvested or managed
by picking branches, and bushes, fruits’ skins
And some seeds and the parts, chosen, mixed.
To remain steady, never change and last long
Wax was used of honey, also from bush, trees
Of bushes, was Loco-Thorn; white hard gum.
As carpets hear songs, and laughter with cries
I absorbed everything around me, myth or fact.
All above, and people, also shops, and formats
Have been base, foundation; I became who I am.
My thinking, ideas and actions took shapes there
Training is the root; same must be Dylann Roof.