A Call Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

A call

Curious, we had gone,
For learning how to fight,
Neither with gun, nor knife.

Too learned were mentors,
Expanded our knowledge.

We, silent and polite
In the lanes, on the ground,
Sat and lent our ears,
Overheard the motorbikes.

The riders made much noise,
Like these days in Iran
The audience felt uncalm.

The bikers of mullahs
Using chains, attacked us.

Some, like me, hid leaflets,
Most others chose escapes.

A baker gave shelter:
"He is our customer."

There, I in safety,
Observed the escapees
Behind them rode bandits.

Home after a tough day,
Meant to rest; go to bed.

Suddenly came a call
From the hospital…

The nurse said, secretly:
"Come here urgently…"

I went there and lifted
The injured wife's sister,
Saving her from the grave.