Windowpane Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Windowpane

My hand on window pain
Focusing on distance, once again
Can see the rising dust of past to present.

Guess hear birds singing,
See the leaves flying
To bitter plight; into wind.

Feel seeing the round sun in form of square
As defined by poet when was imprisoned!

Behind me run echoes
And race to knock on door.

Find me lost in depths of memories;
Come to life my days passed in Evin.
What a cell, rectangle with window.

Light was on, days and nights,
No water in the pipes,
Floor, bare, no carpet,
Only one old, army blanket…

First, counted the bricks,
The marked one, and plains.
Verified and measured
Size of room with steps;
Then the sink, toilet…

On floor I sat and crossed legs,
On the knees my elbows,
In my palms rested head
To try the magic of Yoga.

Meant to sit just for while,
Soon, I felt my nerves cut
Into pieces of fat in a pot
On fire, to melt down…

Unaware of myself saw a rat
Being glued on card box…

In fact, was my brain
It made me think I'd die.

In me a weakened sound
Repeated, many times:
"Poor, sweet, sweet life! "

Though body, up and down
Were blocked and locked out
Spirit flew high in skies…

Comforted myself first,
Walked toward the bowl of toilet
Lifted top, was metal, open and
Saw water, was rotten, dark brown;
Left over of others, from long.

Peed on it, hoping that
Would release some of pain;
Odor was disgusting,
Vomited stomach, intestines
Inside that small bowl…

I tried to flush
Empty was the tank.

The window was small and tiny
With no grip to use for climbing.

The surface below the windowpane
Was steep; diagonal and cement.

Legs apart, I climbed; suddenly
Saw soldier's black boots in waiting
To arrest the jailers escaping.

Wonder how and how fast
Descended or fell back.

My hand on window pain
Focusing on distance, once again
Can see the rising dust of past to present.