Divided Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Divided

Some friends, also I, do try
To farm peace and unite
But we fail break walls.

Met Aman
Long after the last time
Wore black, traditional
A long shirt and Shalvar.

My best was listening
Questioning and asking
Of the past, and gone-by.

Made him talk
As always, he bluffed
Diluted right in wrong
Blabbers, he went on.

Had contact
“To my words he wrote back, ”
He mentioned: “President…”

Then stopped, restart:
“Until then, when he raised…”
Meant to say: “Hand of the Abdullah…”
As his co-president.

His comment was bullet
I felt hole in my heart.
“Won’t succeed…” I whispered
To myself: “Unless they…”

Words stopped, ran scared.

They are torn to tribes and the cults
Each group in a fort, among walls:
Some Pashto, some Tajik, some Uzbek
And much more

They are shades
Not rainbows’, but prisms’.