1342 To 1357 Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

1342 to 1357

In 1342,

Then I was sixteen and
A student and doctor…

Of course, had no degree
My work was from needs
In my life and the patients.

I worked in the pharmacy,
Bought and sold medicine,
Stitched, did the dressings,
Injected both I. M. and I. V.

Once boss called, asking me:
"G to, the Shahbaz Street
And alleys for the shootings."

I jumped on the bicycle,
Was very fast, peddled.

Saw the grocer of Shahbaz
And the police with the gun.

The grocer closed his shop,
Decide to leave, run,
Find a place, safe, and hide.

The bullets of the police
Riddled that grocery.

Teenager and an adventurer
I biked and went farther,
Sought for more, and excess.

Though had seen Coup d'état
When I was six, or five,
And had been beaten hard
In my head, legs, and arms,
Was eager to find their cause.

Finally, I ended
At the bazaar, where people
Had amassed in numbers.

They shouted slogans
With flags roaming around,
Watched a truck with bricks
Stop, and offload cargo.

Some broke the bricks
Some threw the stones
At the police by an arch.

The police were grouped
Wore helmets and gear,
Armed, ready, well-settled.

I saw that one object
Hit and hurt one of them.

The injured turned around,
His index toward his boss,
Seemed to say in anger:
"Allow me to shoot them."

Suddenly around me
Fell people, as if wheat
Cut by a sickle, a machine.

Blood covered the street,
Injured were plenty…

Motorbikes, tricycles
And many vehicles
Took the injured away
From the guards, police.

The rebels knew of the law:
"Let the injured lie to die,
Here or in the hospitals,
Then dig a pond, bury them,
In a huge mass grave."

With many killed, escaped
The ember was ash-covered.

Prisoned and exiled
And many lost their jobs,
Some ended worlds around.

The revolving Earth, Sun
Saw the years go and come.

In Iran, around the Shah,
Slaves-likes kept bowing,
The corrupt were massing,
Both happy and unhappy.

We read books secretly,
Wrote in codes and hiding.

Came 1357

The phoenix retained life
And loud-voiced slogans
Sparked, boiled in a shout:
"Martyrdom and the jihad."

Now, again, I am there
Like when I was sixteen,
Six or five, and between
And beaten by the police
Injured nose, and bleeding.

Now watch me in the mirror,
Feel like seeing a big bear,
Full of care, brainless.

My friend is asleep,
And a fly bothers him
It hovers over him...

Intending to hush the fly,
I go and find a huge rock
To hit and kill the insect,
But I kill my friend, instead!