Feel Free - Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
Feel free to call this what you want
A poem, normal verse or prose; even junk.
I had to leave village at age five; rain had come with flood.
Then again to village; there known to the only character
the teacher, dean and cadre
and somehow we begged him for a lie…
I left home, displaced and too young had no time
I remained a virgin to school.
When settled, I was old for the first to start in Tehran
my age said “four or five, ” and needed right papers…
and of course, we had not.
I returned to village; now to me, city boy, like a cage.
That trip, excuse to actor, director and writer.
He issued: “Studied the grades, three/four.”
All went well only till: “Cannot go to higher unless you…”
They wanted all the four first grades passed, correct
I missed the first, second.
New pain to start old pleas
The teacher we knew in village could issue a repeat
Darbandi’s, secretary’s, hurried work changed my life
He counted one to four and issued five and six
Thanks to this
I went to High-School and higher, and abroad
so simple…life is filled with: “Ups…downs.”
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