Feminism
 |
| Nassy Fesharaki |
“We accepted the change with its dangers.”
Said a feminist
A pioneer
A founder
“And knew of the fights; even rape.”
She went on:
“Fire warms but also burns.”
I
In the darkness of my loneliness
At times
Ponder and wonder
Even cry
Women march
First one
(For me)
Is Rabiah
(Burnt and buried in the bathtub)
Then the ‘Forty Girls’
(From Bamian to Santa Cruz)
Not that there was not any before
I am dumb
Then comes Parvin
In kitchen
Burning like Rabiah
Her poems smell food
Boiling vegetables, crops and spices
Then Gertrude
With her cook
(Maybe Shams to Rumi)
Unpleasant
Trance
She brushes away the curtain
Mumble jumbles the words
And paints poems as if Picasso: “What is beautiful? “
Then comes Tahereh
“I am free…of the veil.”
And men daggers in hand
Cut through the sides
Wounds are filled with candle
Burning with flames
And march goes on
I skim through Rumi’s poems
The maid copying master
And there is blood
Donkey’s without pumpkin
Then comes Forough
“I committed a sin, with pleasure.”
And I
Lost, confused, blind
Look with eye of the mind
One crazy, a pebble, dropped
In a deep well; dark
Haystack
Tens of wise searching for,
‘A needle’
Said a feminist
A pioneer
A founder
“And knew of the fights; even rape.”
She went on:
“Fire warms but also burns.”
I
In the darkness of my loneliness
At times
Ponder and wonder
Even cry
Women march
First one
(For me)
Is Rabiah
(Burnt and buried in the bathtub)
Then the ‘Forty Girls’
(From Bamian to Santa Cruz)
Not that there was not any before
I am dumb
Then comes Parvin
In kitchen
Burning like Rabiah
Her poems smell food
Boiling vegetables, crops and spices
Then Gertrude
With her cook
(Maybe Shams to Rumi)
Unpleasant
Trance
She brushes away the curtain
Mumble jumbles the words
And paints poems as if Picasso: “What is beautiful? “
Then comes Tahereh
“I am free…of the veil.”
And men daggers in hand
Cut through the sides
Wounds are filled with candle
Burning with flames
And march goes on
I skim through Rumi’s poems
The maid copying master
And there is blood
Donkey’s without pumpkin
Then comes Forough
“I committed a sin, with pleasure.”
And I
Lost, confused, blind
Look with eye of the mind
One crazy, a pebble, dropped
In a deep well; dark
Haystack
Tens of wise searching for,
‘A needle’
