Stone Hammer Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Stone Hammer

Love to go deep in time
-when summer has ended;
-can hear my Mother
-demanding, as always:
- "Keep head up, put shoes on."

She hates to see her kids
-with heads, necks
-like turtles.

She knows that we, the boys
-rather run with bare feet.

She has seen our horses
- (long sticks ;)
-and our wheels
- (the round bush that we roll.)

We gallop as we like
-with bare feet…

Have no time to feel the
-gravel and sharp teeth
-of stones, sand or earth.

We run, race…
We run, race…
We run, race…

We, cousins, neighbours' kids
-no fear, no warning
-of gunshots and threats.

Summer has long ended
-fallen leaves are gathered
- (collected to feed herds
-and in times for fire.)

Fruits are harvested
-and crops have ended
-in tummies of the walls
-or stored in the vase of clay.

Soon the cold would rule and
-we'd gather to break
-the nuts' shells, get kernel.

The mortars of stone
-carved inside, round outside
-had thick wall all around
-thick enough to become
-the anvil for our work.

Each of us with hammer,
-a self-found, after search
-on the hill named Tellez
-on which, our house is built.

Our palace is castle
-Mom designed, parents made.

They spent days and nights
-hand in had, heart to heart
-set stone on stone
-flattened and made walls
-till finished the kitchen
-with some rooms…

One of roofs is flat
-and others are dome-like.

Huge hill was mostly
-wild as was; and still…

We went out and searched for
-our most fit, good hammers.

Each of us try the
-long stones with corners
-not too short, neither long
-to fit well in our palms
-to be used as hammer
-to hit the almonds' shells
-break and split (not shatter)
-so, kernels could be saved
-intact and in one piece
-in brownish skin…

When night fell, animals
-were kept in cages, barns
-if needed, stables…

Then came time to have guests
-siblings, aunts, uncles
-with mortars in centre
-all filled with the almonds.

Our night light was oil lamp
- (In the past they burned fat,)
-and smoke rose up high
-dancing like Ballerina.

The smoke darkened light
-of the red, blue wick
-which became more amber.

From shades on the walls
-had murals; black-white
-and all were romantic,
-like willows in breeze
-by the lake, wild dancing.

Their designs, shapes and signs
-gave power to the child;
-to think and imagine
-the life-like-stories;
-as real.

That I miss.
That I miss.
That I miss.

Miss my horse.
Miss my wheel.
Miss riding and racing.
Miss the wall climbing.
Miss saying hi, to all
(Whoever was around,)
(as if our uncles, aunts.)

Am tired of warnings!
Am tired of news!

What the hell is this life?

"He was killed, dismembered…
-right inside consulate…"

I want back the things lost:
- "Don't show teeth to lizard,
- (Mozhmozheh, in our case,)
-and don't touch the frog…"
-simple things, almost dumb!

We were told that frog
-was tailor who never
-returned the left overs
-of cloths, to owners…
-so damned him Prophet
-and pieces turned jacket
- "That is what frogs wear! "

Looking back, I smile
-at simple, even dumb
-advises and comments
-that sound a sort of nice
- (in serene, smile, laugh…)

I miss that.
I miss that.
I miss that.

Where are my chickens, lambs?

Love to watch the stars
-when running, after death
-and the path to Mecca
- (The so-called Milky-Way.)

Miss shadows on the wall
-from the amber light.

Miss walking on Tellez
-searching for my hammer…