P53 Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

P53

In old days
They made ice over there
Thin creek was led in for water
Over ice; thin layer.

It froze became ice
Then again every day
Ice became a mountain.

Came in man, and the axe, and the ass
Then the load scattered, sold around.

With current and power and fridge making ice
That place, abandoned, is old and full of dust.

Gather the gamblers.

Men come in with their bones of ‘seh qap’,
Kind of dice.
They throw and they land, some in win, some in loss.

But one night in summer, everyone on the roof and in bed
I was the only one downstairs, on carpet.

Radio talked and talked, as normal.

Something fell, I heard sound, in my thoughts a dream.
Till morning.

Thieves had come and wrapped up everything.
(Even pants, of older siblings)
Left over was a mess, like in lands occupied.
Looted by Westerners; the Yankees, Gringos.

Then they sang:
“New lands discovered.”

Happily they looted;
What is left is a mess.