Persimmon Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Persimmon

Years ago, when people,
Inside the USA,
Made guns and jet planes,
As weapons, armaments,
For killing the cultures,
That differed the Yankees',
And broke barriers,
In the name of science,
Sent soldiers as experts,
My father,
Used his hands,
In the farms to plant,
Trees, crops, vegetables…

"My children, " he lectured:
"Share your love with people,
Give them food and water."

He was the first person,
Who brought the tree,
Of a fruit, strange,
And showed to people,
People of our village.

It was a persimmon,
The tree grew tall,
It carries memories,
Of a man, kind, sweet,
Generous, and giving,
Always first in helping.

Persimmon's leaf, skin,
Its shape and coloring,
Its flesh, and its meat,
Keep telling stories…

And I think of Ukraine,
Of Gaza, and elsewhere,
And Yemen, and Suez,
And the Houthi pirates,
Seek a branch of Olive.