Healing Stone Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Healing stone

Stone, though hard as are,
-stay and persist in my mind;
-occupying most of thoughts,
-designing without use of brush;
-the scenes seen, heard of, and lost!

Hate the stones on your rings
-around your neck and wrist,
-and in alleys, on walls of cities
-and in your house, or palaces,
-which take me to the man's loss.

Oh, stones!
Oh, stones!
Oh, stones!

You force me to question:
- "How? ", "What? ", "Why? "

Ancestors gathered you
-from small to very large
-from plains and hillsides
-to make many farm-plots.

With you then, they made walls
-dividing "Yours" from "mine"
-and siblings turned "They", "Us."

Slowly art arrived
-we used your bigger ones
-to make tools of all kinds,
-making floors to bathtubs
-and cobbled roads, not asphalt;
-then covered the canals,
-moving water house to house
-and from farm to farm;
-under bridges or Poshtas!

I see blood on stones
- (Pyramids to Palaces)
-even earrings, necklaces.

Once took time to entre
-a water mill, where
-saw crops and the seeds
-led into hole of the mill.
-Saw two round stones
- silent and motionless, beneath
-and another circling; and circled.

Grounded said, the powder:
- "This is how life evolves;
-all the way, all along! ! ! "

I observed and absorbed the fact of
-what Mom said, so many, many times;
- "…Jackets…have two layers…
-the linen is important, patient! "

I found the silent one to be us,
-we, the people and the nation;
-fooled, abused and governed!

We, the abused, just abide and obey
-the demands of the top that rotates;
-patiently with it we, kill, are killed
-to make rivers of blood for vessels,
-of the rulers to go and navigate!

The mines are dug by us;
-by mothers to become
-by husbands to be,
-by parents, old and sick
-and the little tiny kids!

By us perfected artefacts,
By us are stones sold, and
By us are bought and worn!

We allow the stone sit at top,
We allow top stone circle on,
We let them grind us,
We help them circle on us.
We devote corpses, and our blood!