Geothermal Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Geothermal

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.