Sergey And Carlos Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Sergey and Carlos

Some people, or many,
Hear, say, talk of me:
"Who is he? "
"Crazy? "

They are right,
Yet are not!

They live in a small box,
Plato's Cave, firelight,
Chained to chairs,
See the front!

Tied they are to the chairs,
Happily, watch the shades,
See the shadow as the real!

They know not,
They are blind,
To the facts,
To outside,
To the sun,
To the sky!

Sergey is my friend,
In passport, a Russian,
He has a mix of blood,
Of Uzbeks, of Ukraine,
But is raised as Tajik,
Also, as a Soviet!

What can I say to those,
Residents of the caves?

Do they know or feel the,
War or peace, in Ukraine,
Rise and fall of Hitler?

Women had no husbands,
Germans and the displaced,
Have always shared the same!

The story is too long,
Unlike the tied, blind,
I know it all along!

So, Sergey is a friend,
Close like a brother,
And Carlos is similar!

His father was famous,
Interior Minister,
At the time of El Che.

A turncoat to the CIA,
Bolivia's Black Jacket!

Now, my two brothers,
Are poor and displaced,
On the lands far away,
From their birthplace!

Minister's story,
And of the KGB,
Have become,
Parts of me…

The story is too long,
Unlike the tied, blind,
I know it inside out!

What can I say to those,
Residents of the caves?

Silently I laugh but,
Boils in me my blood!

Some people, or many,
Hear, say, talk of me:
"Who is he? "
"Crazy? "

They are right,
Yet are not!