Crossing The Border Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Crossing the border

Have crossed the borders
-in many varied ways
-land, planes, sea vessels.

Most of them can become
-great books, narrations…
-even in occasions ‘novellas! '

Must devote attention
-to them, not, to forget.

Note, caution and warning!

Since can be a thousand
-already mostly are
-dead in me, forgotten.

But some are too fresh
-due to their difference
-like the one on camel,
-and pickup, stolen…

Out of two, the first was
-going to Pakistan
-latter with the Afghans…

Each of two makes me laugh,
-when recall with mood right...

This is what has gone on
-and rightly I deserved
-living as fugitive on the run
-thanks to the way of life
-imposed by mean mullahs…

Still was in Air Force
-when spoke with pilot
-a colleague, very young
-of my case and need to go, escape…

On and off we chatted…

He had talked and mentioned
-of their need for person
-like me who could handle
-an office in London.

In and out of the court I
-was told of the sentence-time
-that would be behind bars:
- "Minimum of six months…"

To digest the movements
-one must feel conditions!
-It was the time of war
-people loved the mullahs
-and judges of their kind;
-and killings by their guards
-in each day and each night…

Exploded bomb in IRP
- (Head office of party Jomhuri)
-some were killed, along with Beheshti!

My crime?
-Comparing those like him
-with the Islam's Caliphs who
-came when died prophet…

"We neither forget nor will forgive! "
-I was told: "said his heir, relatives."

Punishment?
-being jailed for six months.

"If inside, I will be
-told to go and clean
-toilet or elsewhere,
-I reject, will be hit by bullet!
-They claim:
- "Was running to escape…"

"Go, get out, save your life, "
-said father of my wife…

I agreed…
-and this was the start.

After talks with colleague
-the one in the Air Force.

He offered business
-I would go to London
-to handle company…
-he'd run one in Dubai.
-Iran would go to his brother.

He would call whenever
-arranged the smuggler.

I hid me from eyes…
-going out was at nights.

I knew nothing of
-refuge and its laws…

Now I do, do a lot
-thanks to filthy mullahs!

I purchased two books of
-the Imam of Shiraz
-who was had been blown up.

I hated that devil
-because of his order
- "Fill floor of the mosque
-with water, pressurised
-to force the displaced
-to return, go back to Khuzestan.

They had left homes, feared
-from tanks and planes
-that attacked, threw shells
-and the foe that killed, raped.

Therefore ran, went away
-from homes, towns, houses
-to end in somewhere safe.
-Some ended in Shiraz,
-settled in Vakil-Mosque.

I did not meet my guide
-though he used same flight
- (Tehran to Chah-Bahar.)

With me had a suitcase
-in airport someone came
-lifted it and we went.
-was taken to a house
-and hidden behind walls.

They behaved strange
-I felt like a hostage.
-But they went in or out
-smoking hash, grass…

I, who was, once great
-was treated like dirt.

Felt being horse, donkey
-with rein and muzzle, leash
-on saddle a rider, me beneath.

This is how they did live
-and behaved freely.
-Colleague told them of me:
- "He is our greatest VIP! "

Then time came
-they rushed and
-in zigzag, they took me.

They gave me head gear
-a cloth: "Cover head"
-just the eyes visible
-to take off in a Jeep.

Soon we were out of town
-the city was small.

I knew nothing of
-refuge, refugee…

Now I do, do a lot
-thanks to filthy mullahs!

The season was Noruz
-rain had washed everything.

Though the land was sandy
-going was crazy
-as walk in a swamp; to rim filled.

We stopped somewhere where
-were received with respect
-Jalal who led the team
-was higher than a king.

All the rest equal
-sat around the dishes
-for the meal and milk-tea.

Came around water for
-washing hands to start.

I was a good parrot…

The right hands and fingers
-managed food that we ate.

All were good till Jalal,
-Baluch of Pakistan,
-took milk-tea and gargled
-then spit regardless…
-Cultural difference,
-before that loudly burped
-I wanted to vomit…

But being among them
-had to, did accept their
- "Cultural difference…"
- "Cultural difference…"

He drove on the sands
-washed and soft as grass.

Not too far from us
-after leaving Shir-Gauz
-we saw what have been told:
- "Dam broke, caused flood! "

Shanties were now rubbles
-killed were their animals.

"Dam was built by Jihad! "

I saw good intention
-with ugly result and
-nothing to follow up.

Kept silent as went on
-behaved and bit my tongue…

Suddenly Jeep went deep in
-excess mud, little sand
-not enough friction!

I was one, they were nine
-they had food, I had none.
-They acted as blind
-looking at waves, clouds
- "Simply, I, was not…"

Love and hate in heart's pot
-boiled, spoke, low and loud.
-I calmed heart with whisper:
- "Look at life's difference! "

Only one who worked was
-team's master, good Jalal
-others, worms, crawled.

I went on a search for
-bigger wood or stones
-to throw in the mud; friction.

Saw a hill and slab
-stopped to verify
- "Can lift and carry out? "

Played with every side
-and lifted one of sides
-saw heaven's burial.
-Was home to the rat, wild
-in the hottest desert
-that can cook plants, eggs.

Eye to eye were we two;
saw mother with a look
-at the edge of cottons
-collected for her kids.

Saw silo and savings…
-She felt I could hear:
- "Let's divide between us! "

Was right and I ignored
-the stone that re-placed.

Finally, we were out
-and flat was desert
-very vast and endless.
-Once again wilderness
-of mankind, this shameless.

They had seen a ghazal
-time had come for Jalal
-to push the gas pedal…
-passengers hoorayed loud.

I praised the deer
-go dear, go dear
-and also remembered
-one of the old poems
-in Persian that mingles
-with Islam in the vein.
-Was after resistance
-to the tongue of Arabs.

We wasted lot of time
-chasing lonely ghazal.
-Kept going after failed.

Jalal was pathfinder
-in the dark of desert
-no need for map or else!

When we reached a place
-he turned looked in my face:
- "Here is Pakistan, we are
-out of Iran…"

Now the night was ruling
-we had reached the water.
-River was Gwader!

He drove, felt water,
-retreated in anger:
- "Seems to be dangerous! "

He arranged some camels
-and the men to come help.

He greased the engine
-tied a rope to the Jeep
-and pulled it all the way.

Then, came time for camels,
-each would take two, cross…

Here is the part that
-made me write this poem.

I had a young, chubby, co-rider
-was sure than as Baluch, is aware;
-the sassy was very different…
-When forelegs of the camel went in ditch
-I pulled back, he shouted, screeched.
-Then reversed after we had been saved,
-hinds landed in the ditch and camel
-made rider fall over my saddle.
-The rest of story for later…