Warriors Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Warrior

Ash lee, is my friend,
Both work with pen-paper,
Have degrees: "Journalists."

She, black, I brown
Come from far apart
Of the lands, histories.

We live in Canada
Our flag looks like palm.

"Who are we? "
She asks me.

We are both immigrants
Though quite different,
But question is the same:
"On whose land do we live? "

I asked her of Patwa:
"Do you know of that tongue? "

"Broken English
To damage British! "

She says and explains:
"Ancestors were hunted
And brought to islands
For working as slaves
Growing tobacco…"

Lowers head very down,
Comfort her at the time
Of tears and the sighs…

"My parents, also theirs
And many in that chain
Lived in barns, as if they
Were donkeys, ox, cattle
To plough and harvest,
Ordered in English…"

Then stopped, in sudden,
Restart was murmur:
"In their hearts were rebels
And great warriors,
For ambush they waited…"

But their time never came
As had wished when escaped
To live in the mountains
Eating what was called: "Jerk! "

"All from Africa,
From East, North, West, south,
Varied in cultures, tongues,
So, spoke master's one…"
Then whispered: "Hated it! "

"Decided to spoil
The tongue of abuser,
So, made up new words
And used them to cipher...! "

I, myself a rebel,
Love seeing the poet
Of Cree, in North West
Doing the exact same.

"Let us act like Harlem,
Jamaica's Warriors
And pee on the Bible
In Tongue of the King James! "

Poet wrote and addressed
Native girls and women
To raise voice: "…take no shit."

See people puke the
English with vomit
To dilute the King James
With plenty B. S.
For peeing on master:
"It is our first target! "