Chernobyl Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Chernobyl

If I write of my life
In the Ex S. S. R.
It will be volumes of
Thick books like
"Idiot, " "Peace and War, "
Or maybe the Chekhov's.

I have been too lazy,
Useless dust like many
Particles, in gust, wind.

Nobody will ever
Talk about what happened
To their lives, or love-hate.

Nobody talks with sand
In the eye, beach, or hand
Or the dunes in deserts,
No question, no answer
And I too, shall always
Be nothing; among them.

Nobody will know of
Nassy, Afghanistan
Nassy, Tajikistan
Nassy, Uzbekistan
And Nassy in Russia!

It will be great fault
Not to mention Ukraine.

If by force came my life
I told me: "Ride, Drive."

Amused me with teaching
And teaching was learning,
Then followed my research
On "Who are these people?
What has, has not happened? "

Before book, things are fog!

Spent six of my months
In the "National Archive."

When the Eighteen-Twelve
Napoleon's War, happened
Tsar was Alexander-the-First.

France lost…

Then French scattered
Everywhere for bread!

One worked on Cathedrals,
Petersburg's "Isakievsky"
Is Eiffel of Russia.

Put my nose deep into relations
Of the Bear with neighbours,
With Finland to Poland, Sweden,
Rich with facts, fantasies…

My trips to Ukraine
Could be counted as best.

Found friend over there,
Keep failing to find him.

Kathy was his daughter,
Sergei, her boyfriend.

Though a Facebook friend
He never talks of them!

Freshened memories
When heard of Chernobyl.

Together we went there
After wine and Sala
And meeting Irina.

With them and in cheap car
We crossed many signs…