Stampede
In the chest there is chest holding the memories
When eyes see similar, comes alarm reminder,
When ears hear a similar, comes alarm reminder
Stampede in Mecca is the same for my chest
It turns on the alarm; reminder to reveal treasures
Happy, sad, good, or bad, sweet, bitter
We, many, old and young, sitting in the pathway
In front of his house, in those days, dead leader
The Best-known of Mashhad, Ali of Mazinan
He for years, spoke, wrote, of Islam
Clean cut to the bone:
“Be open and active, and be wise.”
Ali was not friend with mullahs:
“They are dark and dogma…”
Mullahs won, gathered mobs
Mobs had come on the bikes
Stolen or given, Hell’s Angels
Engines roared, man spoke
Voices mixed with the noise
Then, later…
An attack with sticks and with chains
We rose and…on the run
Fell people, on them walks…
Stampede had victims, dead, injured
One of them my in law
God knows of the dead ones
And injured; stolen from the hospitals
Buried in mass graves, though alive.
Regarding my in law I was called
I saved her thanks to the kind alarm.
Stampede of Mecca to me is an alarm
Reminds me of that day, brutal with blood
Ali Shariati’s remembrance as leader
Turned to a macabre,
We outside, son inside…but the mobs raised a hell…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Kinda reminds me of Calgary...