My Voice Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

My voice

Was born in the mountains,
-mass of them and in shades
-of the light, dark brown
-all silent and voiceless
-all enforced to be there
-rigid, rough with no rights.

Our being where we were
-was as copied from books
-about God and saying:
- "Let it be."

Neither I, nor the rocks
-or plains, or the farms
-had voice to talk of rights! '

That silence was our voice
-I learned it and spoke.

I call it: "Voice by birth! "

I spoke with Nature
-with roosters and the hens
-with the birds flying, or on eggs.

I spoke with Gardens,
-that are known as "Persian"
-on hillsides, and mountains;
-our voices: "Voice-less-ness! "

Looked around at village
-at people, my neighbours
-they lent me their voices
- "Voice-less-ness! "

That became my own voice
-single voice to have learned:
- "Voice-less-ness! "

That went on till the corps
-was found and discovered.

"He was Gabr…"
-we were told:
- "…had not shaved! "

"The village must be old! "
"Zoroastrians were settled! "

I found a new voice
-Ancestors'
-I am their descendant.

But mother was Seyed
- (blood of the Islam's Prophet.)

Single voice of a child turned voices
-of nature, my father's, and mother's.

Last was an outsider
-brutal, invader
-yet I saw my parents
-romantic, two lovers.

My voices were silence of nature
-the tears of oppressed (invaded)
-and the voice of killer; and looter!

All three were like milk
-in my bones and blood
- (the voice of farmers and
-the lands and the shepherds)

As grew my muscles and knowledge
-my voice changed with every encounter
-loved them all and became different.

How could I be the same?
-when talking with a pick or shovel
-when talking with a lamb, wolf, tiger
-when talking with parents, aunts, uncles
-when talking on, about, ancestors
-when to me as the me, or myself
-all alone in silence?


Then, flood came to change
-forced us to immigrate
-enforced a departure
-now, the voice of city, strange.

I learned to speak the
-voice of roads of asphalt
-that had no pick and shovel
-no waking in morning for milking
-in absence of the herds and shepherd
- (instead factories, vehicles…)

New voice joined voices…

And then came
-the time for travels
-to Tehran and further…

USA was my first
-followed by many more
-tens, then tens to fifty…

Unlike the "Voice by birth! "
-every voice was obtained…
-now, I am a mountain
-its stones are voices…

How can I remain same?

Love each and every voice
-as I do love the ones
-who speak those voices.

How can I remain same
-as the one with the voice
-that was tied to my cord
-when born in the village
-in the midst of mountains
-entangled to my birth?

I am a huge cave
-a suitcase of voices…

I am a closet
-filled with all the fashions
-over and under-wears.

I am a buried dot
-in seabed and oceans.

I am like particles in clouds
-idioms, peoples' tongues
-each of them with a voice
-filled with pains, also joys.

No more I can remain
-little child of mountains
-with the voice of silence
-I speak, instead and too loud.

I speak of trees,
Speak of lamb and sheep
Speak of sea and fish
Speak of many deaths
(In Yemen, Palestine)
Speak of Christians
Speak of Jewishness
Speak of the divides
(in verses of Koran)
Speak of immigrants
(in dingy sea vessels,
(or on feet, caravans
(ready to face the gun,
(and of the terrorists
(that are made by devil
(to sell arms, poisons
(to become wealthier!)

Now I own voices that
-represent angles of
-my trips and visits
-to deserts and the seas
-to the farms and cities
-and sitting and dining
-with many, too many…