Boat People's Annivarsy Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Boat people’s anniversary

Not many see dead waves, unaware it ever does exist.
The wave is pregnant, has fetus of monster, or angel…
It takes shapes, desert’s wind; one is now in my head.

Forty years has passed of Vietnam’s Boat People
They ended on the land, too many stories; soft-bitter.
(Media…fiestas…hundreds …but by who?)

Has ever speaker flipped coin of moon-sun, to both sides?

What a shame! ! !

Escapees, my friend, were somehow related to the West, like slaves.
Stunning history and good deeds; writers are from West.

These mules and horses and donkeys
Are blind and bray for more hay; nothing else.

What about Vietcong, innocent villagers, and those killed?
What about pigs and hens, buffalos on farmlands…in canals?
These peoples, West’s slaves, were agents and murdered.
Go and ask the grass, the fruits, ask trees
(All new, defected thanks to bombs and napalm)
These men and these women, these puppets, with-without uniforms…
Paved the path for bombings, shed blood…
Canonized is killer-betrayer; innocent portrayed as demon; ask the air.

God please
Take my life; and if not give me voice, give me tongue.

I must shout:
“I am tired of the mad, criminal and crime ruling us in cloak of the saints.”
“I am tired of blind leading us to the hell with their light flame cane.”

Today’s boats robbed and raped by blind, are capsized; must be reached, drone-bombed.
Media misleads us forcefully by sealing doors, windows, openings and leaving single hole
to show us the target prepared in their minds, Plato’s on cave wall, not truth nor what must.

Please know Boat People my anger is of ‘Wrong’, that is all.
My love is for you too, you poor tools have been fooled.
Hear you defining freedom Western way, they made you scattered.