Senjed Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Senjed

Ruth must be seventy
If not, sure, in sixties.

She lives in condo and
Doubtlessly, expensive.

I stand with many memories
Of fruits, and arrests and jailing…

She orders the pizza
Small, with Seven-Up.

Concierge sits at gate:
"I have to contact her."

His face and accent are Indian;
Another of many boys and girls
Of college with single intention,
To obtain a PR, then become
Canadian of Punjab, Gujarat
To Madras, Kerala, further south.

I know of process;
Say nothing, no question,
Look at Ruth, instead.

Well-dressed for her age
Wears long false eyelashes.

Extreme her makeup,
Do widen blue eyes
With the circles of age
Rings of wed from Turks;
(Separate in layers and colors.)

Cataracts are her guests;
Still is how was raised:
"Hail to be to the Queen."

On floor a carpet
Masterpiece and Persian.

My share is to wonder:
Does she know of Senjed? "

Inside me, in my head:
"Of course not, she doesn't."

History comes to mind
With sabres and the guns.

Map Tabas and Nazca,
With tracks, many lines;
To form Cat's cradle.

"Use traps and handcuffs,
Kill, murder, shed blood."

"Use the tools, ignore rules;
Separate parents-kids,
Of corpses make mounts, hills,
Close roads, ports, beaches
And never forget to embargo,
Forcing sick, elderly and mothers
Scratch nails on walls with hunger."

In my cells live heroes
Of Andes, of Cree, Argentine
Together with Yaqoob of Iran…

Feel being in Moscow
Play bands, soldiers march;
Am tired of knowledge,
Collapses my heart and I vomit!

"If tired, unable, exhausted,
Read out-loud, this message
And rehearse: ‘Hell with life,
I don't want, do not want
Do not want! '"

Then after, go and find a sort of position
Bring home and lie down on your bed;
Duplicate Socrates, this is death of brave.