In The Hill Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

In the hill

Am reading of those who
-lived own life till forced to
-leave and find a shelter
-in icy cold jungles
-or within the walls sets.

Feel kebab in my eyes;
-boils blood in my heart,
-feel shiver in spine.

I recall when was child.

"Go and choose baby-goats! "
-told me dad, with smile.

I felt man when hit road
-walked and walked.

Now, grown and too old
-travelled around world
-to have learned off pages
-the peoples' ancestors,
-see the things very same,
-yet notice difference, variance.

Know of Hans and Indus!
Know Sheba and Zulus!
Know Incas to Mayas!
Know Vikings; etcetera!

But still, Oshkandeh
-is something different.

Think of my ancestors
-escaping invaders
-into heart of mountains
-with a shirt on their backs.

They had to use bare hands
-to dig in stones, hills,
-digging cave; "House" call it!