Matryoshka Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Matryoshka

With love and interest
I headed for Ukraine.

"Is war zone, dangerous, "
Warned and said, my friends.

"I lived there, I know them,
Am obliged, I love them, "
I replied and was firm.

Long flights, and bus rides,
With hardship, I arrived.

When sitting at the table,
For tea in their kitchen,
Studied war's effects,
Suddenly, I felt heard,
Someone sobs or cries,
And tears falling hard.

Knew not, if was birth,
Or more deaths, new shell,
As Moscow's messenger!

Said nothing, just listened,
To that sound and friends.

Another friend in my head,
A friend for decades,
His passport is Russian.

Felt a knife in my heart,
A dagger in my mind:
Razor sharp, set to cut.

Loved the ones around me,
As well as the absentees,
Ukrainians and Russians,
Russians and Ukrainians.

Love them both.
Love them both.
I had proved, taken risks,
Went to act as a bridge,
A bridge for the peace.

Lost I was in my thought,
And hosts' eyes, voice, talk,
And the secret lost sound!

What a mess, it was hard,
My lone tool was: "Smile! "

In my head a movie,
Large silver screen,
New York? UNESCO?
Kremlin? Washington?

Each of them was a word,
Used by the outside world.

My friends, all of them,
Were born as the Soviets,
Those around, those absent.

Most of them were privileged,
As chiefs' kids, or the Russians.

One's father ruled secrets,
His mother was widowed,
Was widowed by Germans,
Ukrainian found an Uzbek,

As a child knew not,
About the facts and lies!

He only recognized,
His mother had a child,
That he called: "Brother! "

Sergey, tall, black-haired,
And Yuri blue-eyed, and blond
Though he lived with Germans,
He never learned German…!

"Better are the Russians, Soviets, "
They were taught and trained!

At-top-kids never learned,
The core of political racism,
Injected into their blood cells.

Racism brought hate,
Against Russians, soviets,
As came time for harvest,
They owned their heritage!

Misguided Americans,
Brainwashed by Reagan:
"Yes, we have delivered,
To them hope, freedom! ! ! "

Sadly, in the melting pot,
(The U. S. of America,)
Narrow are kept the sights.

Media is the cave of Plato,
To the chairs legs are tied,
Nobody knows outside,
Out of sight is kept the Sun!

Thanks to the America,
I saw the fallen bombs,
I met a sick, shattered life,
Even the Matryoshkas…!

In Ukraine, Matryoshkas,
Are seen as the agents,
Representing Russia,
If not burned, are hidden,
Are removed, imprisoned!

And the sound I had heard,
Was from their prisons!

Their codes, I deciphered:
"Both Russia and Ukraine,
Must plant love, unite..."