Burned Books Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Burned Books

Feel the end of my life
By COVID or natural
No fear that I die!

Broken am because
Treasures will be lost
When I end in a tomb.

Spirit will be gone
Far away and apart
From my graveyard!

The skin, brain, heart
And ears, and the mouth
With the joints, other parts
Will also, join clouds
To leave the bones alone.

Treasures must be shared
Far before I am dead…

Will host them spirit?
Or remain wandering?

Insufficient knowledge
Of science, awareness,
Unable, I try, try hard
For leaving them behind.

Soroush is a poet,
A Tajik from the
Bukhara's area.

Example, and has faced
The impacts of changes
Politics', and of wealth.

History and the myths
Are too much, plenty
But I write of recent,
Soviets' influence…

In time of Stalin,
Attack of Germany,
And later, by famine,
Millions died, were killed,
Many spoke Farsi…

Their blood was shed in
Places by Ukraine.

Phrase is filthy rich:
"Between fart and brain
There is no relation…"

A Tajik fighting there?
Was just by Stalin?
Or the Führe of Berlin?

Full of pain, wake and whine
Were mountains, still are,
For missing butchered young.

"Remove the Farsi letters,
Cyrillic must replace,
To make sure and content
That the past goes and fades
Under the Soviets'."

Then fell the Soviets,
Their collapse divided
The smaller nations
And Uzbeks axed borders
With their guns and soldiers.

Soroush was born, raised in
The Iran's way, manner,
Saadi, his trainer…

If delays departure
I may write what happened
To him and his parents
And loss of brother,
And old books in flames...