His B. Day Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

His B. Day

Is over ten years now,
It was hard, risked my life.

With friend, in airport,
Handed a forged passport,
And police in kiosk,
Demanded: "Go, sit down."

I waited like water,
Boiling in the kettle,
My blood as bubbles.

Waited for someone to,
Come to me with handcuffs,
Even more, shackles, guns,
If so, could be my end.

Had written to daughter,
Informing, telling them,
Of ticket, travel:
"Head to toe, illegal…"

Passengers were boarded,
End of rush and hurdle,
But me and my friend,
Kept sitting as ordered.

This time, same officer,
Calling, took pass, papers,
Soon, I was on the way.

Son never has felt that,
My life was in palm, hand,
For arriving in time,
To dance and celebrate…

His B. Day came and went,
No one did ask, question,
Nor someone did mention,
What happened on my way:
"Tell us of what happened! "