In Bunker Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

In Bunker

When in hands of bastards
I was with other men
Squeezed in bunker, prison.

Story is too long
So, leave it on the side,
Time will come.

Long after days mentioned
Smuggled myself, I
Visited the Afghans.

Sat with the Taliban
As well as Ahmad Shah.

A month was with the first
And for months with latter.

I, like you, and many,
Knew them by papers
Till day of encounter.

Lies,
Lies,
Lies,
Papers lack
Sensing roots of words said
Or feelings depths of them,
Because a Journalist, politics,
Say the things as they see…

Incorrect,
Incorrect,
Incorrect,
Or mistake at its best.

Born and raised in Boston
Or London, Washington
With water in the pipe,
Conditioner in home, car,
These peoples' visions are...

Far from the Afghans',
With river being bath,
Toilet, and drinking water.

Most reports are nonsense
Regardless of paper or on air,
By likes of Wall's-Journal,
CNN, BBC, Pravda
Or many Europeans', USA's!

They, too, are like Trump,
Most of them out of touch,
They need to learn, hear
The words of Seattle:
"Go, Return to bunker."

In Panjshir
Ahmad Shah had many
Detainees, prisoners
From KHAD, Taliban,
And let them walk free,
Cared, for them fatherly.

Of course, he had limits.

This leader insisted:
"I, never, can judge them! "

He told me in person:
"Our fight with Taliban
Has not been, and is not
For greed, personal…"

To me he, opened heart:
"All of us born here
Are the same, equal."

But Moscow, Washington
Did not want peace and calm
For the men and women,
Area's children,
They wanted arms market.