Surrender Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Surrender

Being of the background that I am
Inheriting the language that I have
The language of poetry, Rumi and Hafez
The language of Nizami Ganjavi and Ferdowsi
The language of Khayyam and Avicenna
Each cell of my body shouts:
Poem, poetry, confinement and concealment
Yet, these lines have stolen my mind, time
So Rilke stole...my heart...

The secret of his growing lies in this:
by being totally defeated and disarmed
by even greater forces and their cause.

I can see how surrendering brings comfort
Imagine not fighting the old, poor and the weak
Imagine being Hallaj and conversing with love
To him 'God'
Imagine being a journalist and in the hands of brutes
Comfort comes at last, when your head is on your chest
Surrender is the greatest gift and the secret of growing.
We grow when we die as we grew after our birth.