Fig Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Fig

I saw you when shopping
You, like me, went for figs.

Did you read the packing?
Did you check pricing?
Was it not expensive?

Well, friend, then listen
There five in package,
Handpicked and selected,
To be sold for dollars,
Each fig for sixty cents.

Did you sit, study
The price, origin?

Well!
I did…

This is some prologue
About me and the fig.

My parents had gardens
And many trees there,
But never grew fig.

Therefore I, always longed
To buy, exchange for figs!

Wanting was, always, is
Main base of priorities…

With this I, can, do feel
The poor and poverty.

I do not comfort, nor
Sympathise with some words.

I have been and will live
As that child, miss deeply,
What I lacked, equality.

I lived with descendants
Of prey, and hunted
Like deer, bird, or whale.

Have lived with, among the
Blacks who accepted:
"Our people are worth less."

"My friend, " I tell them
"A deprived becomes less
Not because he deserves,
But from things imposed…"

Deep inside smile when
Jaws fallen, they wonder,
Why I love, and why care.

I hardly find reason
To talk and explain:
"Love, always is needed,
Just because, regardless
Of colour, age, culture
Or the race and gender."

Rarely I find time to
Speak of travels
I have had by sea, air
And on the many roads
Of asphalt, gravel…

"My friends, " I intend
To speak, and tell them:
"When I was in Jordan
And Sudan, Kenya,
To LA, New York, and London
To Swiss, Zurich, by the lake
To the moving island, straws
In Lake of Titicaca…
I became one of them
Ate, slept, and behaved
In the same way, manner,
Being one, I feel them."

I slept and ate there
As well as in the cave.

I have been in the desert
Ate, slept in shelters
Erected and held with trunks
Of date palms and covered
With the leaves cut, dried.

How can I define life in shanties?
Are they not growing by cities?
Do they not use the mud and adobe?

Slept in the palace, bodyguard
And in the Sheraton and Westin,
Joined the rest in bars, dance
And of course, broke fast…

Having seen most of sides
Highs to slums
Can compare, judge and talk.

Yes, have lived with either
Know both and can compare.

Know well of poverty
And the life of wealthy.

But will I be ever, confident
Can revert this message?

"Let us go kill the hate
Replace it with love, care, "
Is in mind, how to say?

Many times, told the rich:
"You cannot take, carry
Your wealth and property
In grave, make tree
From the love breeze
To give shade, forever
To you, your descendants."

Poverty is child of
The greed for power
Ingrained by devil
In soul of human
In form of pleasure
For adding to richness!

Poverty can and will
Soon, become a thunder
Enriched with the anger,
Raise fire, full of hate
In deserts and forests
Regardless of contents,
Mosquitoes to lions,
Jaguars and tigers
To ants and elephants.

Going back to the figs
They have come of Peru
Where the poor grows and
Handpicked and selected
First gathers then packs them.

But same poor one of Nazca
Is laughed at as "Big hands! "

In Peru, great is the culture
I focused on dances
Dress well the women,
Men wear masks, face cover.

Many are Unaware
Full of lust, desire,
They had a Cholita,
(Insult, like Squaw…)

She was good for sex, joy
But shame as a White's wife.

Spanish danced for joy
And the bed, then after,
But covered lustful face.