Mourning Friends Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Mourning friends

I have seen, and heard of
My friends' born to die
In flames of fire
That is set by rulers.

Books have been my friends,
I, always, have loved them…

Silent, are quiet
And allow me flirt
With pages to cover.

Always give, never take!

See blood in my eyes
When see them in hands of
The devil, forced as law,
Censorship: "Is excess! "

1.
In the Nineteen-Thirties
The team of Stalin,
Gorky with Eini and Lahuti
Enjoyed life in Khojand,
(An ancient, old city,)
And gathered my friends
And made hills and piles…

Hills grew to mountains,
And they were, all butchered
Like bodies of rebels
In La Paz and elsewhere,
Scattered were pieces
To alarm residents:
"Be our lambs, not tigers! "

Then, friends were portioned
And headed for fire
In baths of old culture,
To heat and warm water:
"Forget your heritage…"

Most people were afraid
To say "No" or reject
Going to wash themselves
With such mourning water.

With tears they added
To mass of saltwater…

2.
Arguedas was a top minister
When rebelled the El Che
Against the USA…

Though the first to be killed
From team, was Jorge
Still in the mountains
Of Vallegrande
Roar the sound of bullets
And brooks and rivers
Taste blood with smell…

Arguedas, minister
Loved the books and kept them
In the shelves, with respect…

3.
William Jackson, too
(The Prairies' Joseph of Riel)
Gathered books and papers
As witness and friends…

4.
But the shameless police
Are greyhounds and pigs,
Collect to dispose them.

Books are burned or trashed
To cover, hide the facts
Of brutal rulers
That always fool people
To use and abuse them
Like horses and slaves!