Melancholy Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Melancholy

My hands and my feet are
-involved in hold and do; go, stop

Independent are eyes and my mind
-each busy, dig in time

I find me in childhood
-first sister acts mother
-does washing, is friend

I love her company
-as teacher and leader
-she makes toys, I play
- she flies on swing
-as if witch on broom

Our mother, dictator
-shouts at her and beats her
- "You are girl; act like girl,
-what you do causes shame! "

I can see in her face:
- "Wish I died or could hide,
-want to leave … be free."

Except death has one way,
-get married… for prince she awaits.

And a girl in village
-marries if, is match-made

Finally, that happened
-I was child,
-don't know how
-don't know when

She made dolls
-found fruits and large nuts
-clustered and shaped them
-and draw, made designs
-on cloth; or kerchiefs
- with needle and thread

I was her go between
-taking gifts to lover

She told me of her love
-her dreams, times to come
-I knew her secrets

Mother came with her shouts:
-when she made the doll-likes
- "Creations is for God;
-copiers are Sheitan
-and that is what you are! "

Drawing and photos
-having or making dolls
-was evil and ‘Haram'

Where is my poor sister?
-lives like hers meant:
- "Suffer! "
- "Be mule when working, "
- "A woman has no rights,
-or level; socially, political, "

I stood for her when
-had power and income
-went against my mother
-talked to dad, and helped her

But she was, then, married
-her toys were children
-since woman meant woman
-when able to give birth; be mother!

Things have changed,
-even there, in Iran

Cultural Minister went opened,
- ‘The dolls' house, Museum'
-far better is Islam
-in Iran than Riyadh