Hussein Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Hussein

"I have to..."
He told me and went on, insisting:
"I know how dictators use tricks and tortures..."
He is Kurd and aware how fighters are caught-killed.
"They use wives and mothers and sisters as their tools for confess."
I turned tough and raised voice:
"Is that why? "
He knew what I meant with no word.
Each word of his wife is insulting, as are kids'; son-daughters.
"They're not yours."
I had said with gesture; he knew my comment:
"Let them feel what is there; why we fight."
(The nails pulled, weight on ball, bottles shoved and tongue cut.)
Return look:
"And mass rape? "
I frowned, serious, I'd talked of Mandela:
"And that too; do they care for your thoughts, your pride and your rights, why should you? "
For moments, peace, silence...
"She's my wife even if..."
I forced him to stop and confess:
(My move said how I know of long passed with no care, without touch; not even a hello.)
"She is your enemy, closest, poison in blood."