Split Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Split

In winter and in cold
Trees are like Kabul
In nineteen, ninety nine.

I speak with trees
Eyes turning in spin
A whirling poor dervish
Staring hungry…

Afraid is every one of the rule of mullah
Men, women and neutral on the run
Must get out of fear so they rush!

The trees germinate
Pregnant making lines
On branch in the parks
On roadside and in yards.

Only base for planes
-the lonely, is Bagram…
Many bags, large, small
Among them blue ones
Inside each girl, woman
Have no right to walk, talk
Unless are authorised
By a man, husband, son…

I see their portraits
On trees everywhere
On winter-cold-branch
In shape of germinates
In their bags but reddish
Better say, amber ones…

Look around
Nobody; I alone
So smile
Then I laugh
Laugh out loud
Body in Toronto
But thoughts are in Kabul!