Bloodletting Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Bloodletting

He,
Mahmood,
My older brother
My boss and my teacher
Can be called an urn or treasure
Of him I, have many memories, a mixture
Not always good…or…bad
Sometimes none; just good to, remember.

Jazeb is one of them when he came and shouted
Mohammad, the so called dark-skinned driver, his daughter
And early morning with Qalyaee, vinegar…
And taking the ice-axe hitting man in Yakhchal…
The list is very long
One of them: Hejamat…

Went to bathe and came back
He was pale, no blood
I was child.

I learned it later on
Of Dallak taking blade and cotton, Estekan
Sucking blood.

Their system I respect
Also their Mosht-o-mal

They do it well-aware
Vacuum is a tool and use past experience.

Alcohol-soaked-cotton goes aflame
Soon is set on skin, on the cut
With no air, oxygen, flame dies
The burned air turns to a Black-Hole
Vacuum sucks blood
Hygienic, safe and sound
And marrow gets busy in making new blood…

They used leech in old time
Bloodletting is alive
Still in, India.