Turning Gypsy Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Turning gypsy

Not many have looked in
-foundation of gypsies!

I assume they have had
-stories like the pits
-of peaches exported…

Or maybe like mine and
-the drunk, smokers
-on roadsides…

Or maybe ladybird
-on windshield
-of my car.

They have been migrating
-on the roads for ages…

No one knows how many
-of gypsies were victims
-of knifing and choking!

How many have been raped?
How many leashed, in rein?
How many were slayed?
How many were shipped out,
(Willingly or unwilled?)

Having been on the paths
-more than in the shelters
-with buddy, my backpack,
-I do know and know well.

Once, they too, had a cave
-where they lived in peace,
-safe…

Till arrived rush, flood,
-invaded animals…
-wilder than the wild beast
-carrying swords and guns.

Invasions turned them to
-displaced, refugees.

Siblings, relatives to them
-were rare, few, kind people
-who shrink day by day
-as does rain in desert
-valuable…restrict…

They became unconcerned
-happy with lawlessness
-and joined them serfs, slaves
-who had dared to escape.

Cossacks formed in same way.

Jamaicans started in Caribbean
- (Blacks kicked the White ass!)

Unlike them were those who
-in North, South America
-as well as Australia…
-sat with heads between knees
-and cried, sobbed till death
-or lived with flagged names:
- "Squaw", "Cholita" …

Gypsies' works were taken
-republished under names
-of dirty invaders!

Listen to "El Condor"
-by Simon-Garfunkel
-as well as the Hopkin's
- "Those were the days."

These are just two of the
-thousands of…

Look at the Yukon, "No Greyhound, "
Look at me behind bars;
Look at the Malcolm X and Douglas!