Anita Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Anita

Changed her mind with clock
-called, said "Yes."
-then a "No."
-repeated many times…

And we met at the end
-for final.

A sort of tiny of
-Middle East;
-was perfect but small
-everywhere, toes to head.

Best of her, cutest
-was smile.

May times said sorry
-said "Sorry" and "Sorry"
- "Am sorry."

In this way one can say
- "She lives in backyard of USA;
-Canada…where grass and the leaves
-to asphalt, concrete,
-are made of word "Sorry! "

Saw frame on her wall
-said: "Allah."

"So, you are Ismailite, "
-when heard me, fell her jaw.

She became like a bird
-on branch of tree
-quietly preened.

"How you know? "
-she questioned
-full of joy were her eyes
-as spoke, exposed sun,
-floating, surprised.

I told her of the roots
-of people who were called:
- "Fatemioon."

She listened piously;
-her look was inviting
-to "Go on and tell me."

Told her: "My favourite
-poet and philosopher
-is, Great Nasser Khosrow."

And mentioned in detail
-how and when followed the
-man, who lived in exile
-just because…

"He met those followers,
-fell in love when at Hajj.
-On return he was held
-and sent to birth village
-on exile…
-There he wrote his poems
-in nature, well-balanced…"

She begged me with her look
-to go on, "Continue…"

"Second man considered
-a father to terror
- (The Hasan Al Sabbah ;)
-was master…"

And told her how I have
-followed them and have had
-travelled to visit
-their castles and their acts…"

"We take as ‘Granted'
-that we are Ismailites
-knowing not a word of
-its roots, its why and how …"

With a hug for hello
-and a hug for goodbye
-we spoke in joy and
-had fun and had good time;
-then "Goodbye."

On way back, in my car
-felt being grenade
-or CB in the air
-or in sea a Dead Wave
-boiled in me the knowledge
-that obtained from books
-and people on my way
-in trips of burden and leisure,
-which have been pleasure.

In my mind ran conscious,
-streamed voyages
-in open and hiding
-include when sitting
-in the den of engine…

I recalled the mud walls
-and the roofs from mud
-and the dens from earth
-and dingy, and the tents.

I recalled our flights
-the LF, ELF, ULF
-under us Iran and
-Europe and USA…

I recalled the mountains
-we climbed wherever
-our time did allow us.

I recalled the water
-to our sides, massed around
-when in boats, large vessels.

I recalled museums and archives
-with samples, example, many books
-among which I felt lost…

"She is wrong to think I
-am aware, have knowledge!
-Who am I or can be
-if honestly compared
-with the things I have seen? "

I am not more than dot
-in the book of Poma
-or Bible, or Vedas
-or Gathas or Koran.

I saw me walking in Sahara
-and Madrid in Spain
-and Azores, Portugal
-and Andes with Llamas
-and with the camels of
-Pyramids of Pharaoh…

Felt like bird as went deep
-like taking to sky
-an eagle;
-aware but a spot
-on pages far behind
-the waves of fog-clouds…

In me found, felt a cave
-empty, empty, empty.
-Love to go once again
-be serene, asylum
-with Sufis in Chelleh.

Want to be squirrel
-well balanced on cable.

Want to be a bird on
-tip of a tall branch
-with my beak in feathers
-softening, arranging
-preening…

Thanks to you Anita.
Thanks to you Anita.