Seminar Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Seminar

He told me he'd take me to great seminar
Wish had not!
Saw nothing except pain
Every face was a book; displaced
Read it all on the lines of wrinkles
Each of them a Mirror, like Nima's
And woman not knowing of herself
Behind their presence were reasons!

Wound is now open and on it salt
With readings; Bob Dylan, Steinbeck
Of ‘mice, men' And Ginsberg! ! !

Expected forty men or over
I would sit and listen to lectures
Increase my knowledge!
But number obvious, far below
And faces and their tongues were blow!

I shook hand of a man named Peter
This name has been around with loss, gain
In the faiths, politics and elsewhere
Among them one is called, "The Great"!
This Peter had shaved-head; well-dressed
Later on I learned that he was head
As owner and master could shout, curse!

The rest were all Kurds and immigrants
The hands rough, faces burned
And the eyes affected with the pain
Internal, external: "Who is Kurd? "
Everyone has seen dead and the killed
Among the displaced families…
It burned me when one did translate
English to Turkish…not Kurdish
So the Kurd who is of Syria, did not get!

I recalled the poem in Persian
On my mind it whirled…whirled:
"You see hair; I see curls
You see the eyebrow; I, movement! "