Elite Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Elite

Should have been like all kids,
Yes, maybe, possibly
With, without my footwear.
We allowed our skin to touch earth
As babies of the goats and the sheep
Did, when falling, after birth…

Yes, maybe no Giveh
My naked sole of feet,
On the land and pebbles.

We stood, and observed
Return of grazed herds
In the dusk and sunset.

Behind us, in water
Skin-bags of yogurt
Were tightly tied at neck.

Of cracks of mountains
Came water in current
And filled the reservoir.

Visible were bubbles;
Playful, danced to burst
As we saw in the foam
When sisters and mothers
Sat at ponds, washed clothes.

Some of things were women's;
Like the bags of yogurt and fire
Which was tool for further process.

And we, kids,
Were free as are wind
And breeze in the leaves.
We played and observed
Whatever nature gave;
Flying, flowing, crawling
With the teeth for chewing
Or the ones with sting.

Behind us was the east
In front looked at west
Saw sun, set.

Based on what we were taught
The great dying Sun
(Hanging there in sky,)
Was part of God's power.

Soon saw the rising dust
Get lost in colours of
Masterpiece of sunset;
The great miracle.

Love mountains
Love mountains
Love mountains

They were the school and
Our parents and teachers
And leaders and mentors…

They taught us and gave us
The pride and the taste
Of beauty, talents.

The herds had attractions
When returned with shepherds.

Though the sheep were slow
The goats ran as if raced…

One of goats was leader
With a large bell on neck.

Funny was this goat that
Walked slow like a king
(If female, as queen!)

Now, after many years
I see with pleasure
Those fooled with position.

Following the news
And the lies, corruptions
To bombings and murders
By the Sheikhs, Presidents
And/or the local names
Like priests and bishops
Or the range of rabbis
To Faqih and mullah
Take me back to that goat
With big bell, in sunset.

Power
Wealth
Position.

Are base for corruption.

Position,
Position,
Position.

My Daddy was great
Master of stories
To give us examples.

Once he talked of donkeys:
"Some wore ties around necks
While carried loads of dirt
On their backs but rose heads."

Diplomat was daddy
In telling story
To let us see kernel.

"Respect us, we are the civilised! "
The donkeys must have meant
As did goats wearing bell.

Behind the time's garments
Are the foolish leaders
That fall for position
And end with corruption.

Open eye to White House
And Riyadh to London;
Palaces everywhere.

These castles protect
Our corrupt and cheaters
As if are Foxes' dens.

Those in them abuse the
Power that we lend them.

Badly, I miss my dad
That hardly gave demand:
"Do this, " or "Skip that."

I miss his stories
That had heard,
Seen or read.

Lovely was story
Of the Mullah's sleeve.

He who is in example
In many folklore
Is called the "Nasruddin."

In his working clothes
He passes by crowd
And tries to get in;
The doormen reject him!

Goes, returns to party
Is given the best seat
As one of VIPs
Because of what he wears;
He says to the food in plate:
"Eat sleeve, eat sleeve! "

Let me raise my voice loud
Let me shout, shout and shout:
"Hey leaders, Mullahs to Presidents,
The garment that you wear is goat's bell!