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Nassy Fesharaki

Veteran Poet - 2,958 Points (Dec 29 / Iran)

My carrot

My carrot

Back again
Unwanted as before
Decided my life line by others
I was in a village
Where I kissed fresh air after birth
For first time

I had been
I had seen
Capital, big Tehran
It was hard to adapt once again
Be farmer in mountain
Adventures I wanted and he was example

He was far all the year
Came back home in summer
(That is if, he wanted)
Now he was a brother and father
“Where’s the seed? ”
He asked me, I answered what happened

I’d chosen piece of land
I’d plowed and had farmed
Spread all the seeds
I wanted to be man, as were men around
They had all I needed
Good muscles and shovels

“That’s too much for a farm, you spoiled…”
He shouted and beat me
Was kicking on all sides, as if rock
I cried and cried
No mother, no support
Nobody was around

When over and tears
Had dried on my eyes
I went out and walked out
Hit the road to westward
Walked and walked for hours
Lonely I, all alone

I ended in Zefreh
I knew direction, heard that name
Memories I pulled out
Of ear and the heart and the mind
Without food and money
No parent, company

In a bus I was kid
Driver saw me with
The women in the seats
Never asked a question, doubt bleak
In hours I was there
City was Esfahan

Once again all alone
Not village
Not small
In city I had been
As a child, too small
But lucky

I heard someone whistle
I knew Mojtaba
I called him and sought help
“Take me to, my cousins.”
I would lie like a fox
I waited, Zabih came

“Dad’s sent us a message
I must go to Tehran…”
I sure lied
He took me, terminal
He put me in a bus

Now city much bigger
I’d worked in this one as a child
Things had change in short time
Busses had two floors
Areas looked alike, names similar
I had asked for wrong one

I ended in market
Lots of shops sold crops
And kitchen’s products
I was lost like a chick in jungle
Once again Lucky I
I saw our waterman

I’d known him for time
He knew who I was
We did not any pipe
Water came in drums
Then in bails and oh…wow
Stories of Iran, that tall girl

The secret of Mahmood,
Waterman and myself
I knew all as if
I read my simple palm
On right hand or the left
He let me sit with him

I was there at our shop
I was kid like orphan in the rag
All the eyes wide open
“How the hell could he come? ”
“I have come with message.”
Lied again, I had to, to be safe.

What happened then after?
That is long story.
It will come.

Submitted: Saturday, December 14, 2013
Edited: Saturday, December 14, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

My childhood is nothing but life of a devil next to an angel's and filled with crazy actions and miracles. Here, I was about eight.

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