My Village Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
My Village
My village
Hey pictures, doubtlessly
I hate you
You the guns and the bombs,
Poison
You intend to murder memories
Of my past.
You talk of the village
Of My Birth
You liars, you liars, you liars…
You show me the lamp-posts
Stones walls and bricks…
Then tell me: “This is there…”
I recall something else
My village in my heart is not you
It was love made simple
Of trees and mud-walls; precious
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 5:58:16 AM # 1.0.0.1119
