Poem By Nassy Fesharaki


Back from Kosovo
Adam came for writing,
Student, creative.

His wish and desire:
"I must write, register
All of what I observed."

In his eyes sat tear,
In his face lot of pain.

He, along with friends
Were alert, went to check
Some abandoned houses.

"In breeze the curtains
Danced, flew the papers,
Fell shattered glasses,
Wind blew its whistle,
We were sunk in fear, "
He said and explained
The indoor, furniture!

With his words I gave life
To suspense, cinema,
Of the master "Hitchcock! "

The bullets were blind,
Hit, penetrated the walls
To kill the parent, child,
Hiding with hearts throb.

Adam saw that many
Had lost life in hiding
And the lifeless bodies:
"…fell as if raindrops! "

Heated words were fire
In mouth of dragon
With flames scattered
All over that place.

Like kettle, his brain,
Kept boiling, had bubbles,
It asked him: "Take steps,
Organise and write them."

But frost of the need,
For his daily living
Put a seal on his mouth,
First slowed, then stopped.

He had to pay the bills
Of rent and utility
As well as bus, outfits.

Daily needs murdered us
And feelings, humanity…

He forgot the smoke,
That had seen at a door,
To shoot it was his goal,
Waited for light to shell...

"Finger on trigger,
I looked at my muzzle, "
Was ready to shoot it
If it was dangerous.

Soon after, as always,
His brain made U-turn
And made him a slave:
To "Bread, bed, water! "

How great was poet
When he wrote a poem:
"If allows bread's pain…"

My classmate, Adam
Became fog in summer.

Now he works in office
Goes at night to return
Slightly after five…

No more talk about ghost,
And forgot corpse, smoke
That witnessed as soldier,
In war zone, Peacekeeper.

Passionately talked and
I followed my nature
Its demand: "Kept silent."

To him I, said nothing
Of my side, same timing
And going to Moscow
To charter Ilyushin.

Somalia was war zone
Thanks to mean Western World
That divided tribes.

And I had my friend
Named Ahmad, Somalian.

My worker as right hand
Filled, applied for visas
For the tourists and guests,
Among them Somalians.

About the desert's kings
I had read and knew.

Now, crushed to nothing
Badly robbed by cruel,
Were happy with crumbs.

I had tour company,
Meant to use Djibouti
As a base for helping
My Ahmad's relatives.

Would bring the planes,
Settle them in Sharjah
To bring, take, carry
Their cargo, passengers.

Exactly at time when
Adam left Canada
Heading for Kosovo
Russian Air Minister
Departed Sheremetyevo.

He was the man I would
Meet and sign the papers,
Chartering their planes.

Adam who was to write
Of disasters in wars
Is chubby, nine to five,
Works in same university!

And I am refugee
No more with company…

Hey Adam, old friend
Let you and I confess:
"Both of us are useless! "

Neither did anything
For Ahmad, Kosovo,
Somalia, the war torn.

You and I are parts of
A nation, all deprived
To be pawns, animals

We are bought or abused
In the games of dealers
And fear, warmongers.

Think they are the winners
When harm, cause disaster.

But devil in joker
Lives, in fact, in his hell.

Lies, calls it: "Love making, "
When buries his own kids!

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