Brown jacket
Everything has a name given by the mankind, with it we recognize.
There is a history for the things, origin lies in time, and oral stories
This jacket, brown skin, has its history, stories, is a cave discovered
It is mine. I’ve had it for decades; I bought it so to help. And it goes:
Stories very nice, I must tell, and must dig deep in times, into pasts
Well settled in Dubai, always loved adventure and I do with no mind.
Naturally different were causes, being a human also a crazy nationalist.
When Reza bought the pumps we removed all labels, anew “Taiwanese”
Fax machines in store, we packed them, then shipped them; smuggled.
Digital, a machine, urgent need for Iran, I chartered Kish plane airlifted.
Two young men, home-ridden, members of MKO lived with me as labor
I took them for visa, sponsored and helped them till they went to France
One returned after time another in Iraq. Ali came, he brought this Jacket
I paid him and purchased. It’s a book. It’s movie. It’s filled with memory
This jacket is carving on the walls of the caves of a pasts’ stories; history.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem