Red Carpet In The East India Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Red carpet In East India

Bangalore now-a-day is LA
Beauties, Red-Carpet every year
I have my microscope also a telescope.

Years ago; Seventeens and something,
Peter rose in Russia, and Nader in Iran.
So things changed; changed, changed, changed.

And we are scouting the surface
"Queen of beauty", "Sexy and nudity"
Everywhere is carpet, Red carpet; Red carpet.

We are dipped into shit
Deep in shit to fill mouths and our eyes,
We are told of ISIS, and their likes, of terror
So we are part of shit.

My trip ends in word Assassins
Thanks to name of Sabbah;
Overt was his team with the Hashish
His men were robots of their time terrorized; committed suicide
Did not see red carpet, media …. Fought for rights.

Turn pages freely, not teachers' in class
They talk of hay's float on surface
Most of them are same shit.

Study history, politics; deported Indians
Indians who gave name to nations conquered
Forcefully they remained on the ship, thirsty and hungry
The vessel, Komagata Maru, carried the British Indians
They'd escaped racism, injustice; to land in Canada
"Deport them"; "Not allowed; " said agents.

Back at home they joined force with antis, for their rights
For being against King and Queen, Britain they were called "Terrorist"
The same was with Ghandi…London lost.
They'd welcomed Britain as friend to resist a looter; Ahmad Shah Dorrani
Took them years to learn and realize; "London is similar to king of Kandahar."

Much is left to be said; but cannot; no space.