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The Wandering Dervish from Tehran, New York
Dearest Readers,
These are some unedited poems and some unfinished verses from the fictional character in my mother-daughter novel, Ziba. Marjan, or coral, is the name of this young, Marxist revolutionary. Ziba, which means beautiful, is the name of Marjan’s mother, as well the name of the novel. The poems are written by Marjan to Ziba and to her lover (a soldier). Several are addressed to the world, Iran, and the U.S. Please note that these poems and the fictional character of Marjan are not intended to celebrate the Islamic Revolution so much as to explain it with compassion and forgiveness.
SILENCE
Veils over words
Over women with words
More dangerous than
Sex.
HUSBANDRY
Gunships kiss minarets and mosques,
The muezzin plays a wedding dirge for the
Un-invited.
Those who cannot squander
their toil at karma’s wedding must
learn to honor, cherish and obey.
Brown fists send up white rice, soil and pebbles—
offerings to a new God, reigning down—
Red.
HOPSCOTCH
Birds in this new pollution no longer sing.
So I spike ceremonious goblets of wine,
collecting blood from concrete chalices,
puddles I hop around, as I throw down on
chalk outlines of maps divided by haves and have-nots.
All have been taken.
I will not step lightly…
IN SILENCE
Mother sings with setar eyes.
Stars alight with expiration.
Flesh of my flesh,
Blood of my blood—
I wish you’d learn my
Song of Resurrection.
Mystic eyes, unveil your fear.
Teach lips our melody of insurrection.
CHURCH, STATE AND FAMILY
(The Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost Revisited)
All the masters have forgotten
They too have masters.
I SEE…
Blood spilled in accordance with man’s right to divine rule;
Blood spilled in accordance with the Down Jones;
Blood spilled in accordance with the darkness of skin;
Blood spilled in accordance with daughters refusing to sit still.
EULOGY OF FAITH BEFORE RESURRECTION
Man and woman make a catamaran but
You say you’re a barnacle
drifting blindly while they carry you.
Or so you say so you can blame.
You lie.
When you fear, he stalls.
When you know, both know
And sail.
I don’t admit I’m afraid
Though the shore is dangerous with
Jagged rocks, broken glass, razor blades
Made of oil cans, shrapnel and unwound clocks.
I’m always barefoot.
I don’t seem to grow calluses.
I watch you turn away, tired—
Thirsty for the safety of land.
We linger, floating—
And separate.
Like shifting islands,
We’re pieces of one.
All lies, capsize.
I want to be brave.
I want to be the wind.
AFTERBIRTH (TO A SOLDIER PART I)
Cold-blade stubble against my fingertips—
And you were a baby kissing home.
I’m so full with carrying you.
A slow birth.
A slower death…
Don’t make me carry it out—
The Caesarian.
HEJAB
Sister, I look at you
through black fabric, sweat
and bloodied gauze.
You’re nothing but expensive furniture
with your child-like submission and
post-feminist, ruthless obedience.
You have no say with your silence.
You forget woman should be
heard and seen.
“Woman is the nigger of the world,” I whisper
behind my black fabric, sweat
and bloodied gauze.
BAGH MEANS GARDEN
He grips my throat and lodges
Fear in my soul.
And plucks my fruit
Without replanting.
My apple-heart beats a love song,
“Will you save me? God is watching.”
RAMADAN’S EUCHARIST
If there is sustenance in air
I say the breath of God
Is the bread and wine
From which the rich do fast.
I BELIEVE IN ST. NICHOLAS
I swallow your worries, dear mother.
In my belly fear grows rich and strong.
If the earth shall swallow me whole as I’m
Bloodlet on soil raped by greed…
So be it!
I hear that red and green are the colors of Christmas.
Let’s celebrate the forsaken.
GOD-CERTIFIED FOR THE PUBLIC’S ACCOUNTING
Hurt people hurt
People hurt people
Hurt people hurt people hurt people hurt people…
There are no more loopholes in this loop.
NO EASTER
I am your Easterly
Easter Lily
With powers of
Birth and rebirth.
Landlocked, I’m an egg with a shell
Matching shades of God’s
Earth, from which I crack open
Ascending, dark-winged and invisible.
DEAR LORD
America giveth and
America taketh away.
RITUAL
On the day of sacrifice
We spill the blood of the beast to
Feed the poor.
On the day of mourning
We spill the blood of the poor to
Gorge the rich.
UNTITLED
My inner rage burns like sage,
floating into ether.
Why do you cry for me when I’m your
Black-eyed virgin turned whore
In God’s orgy in the heavens?
Unharm.
Untie.
Undo.
Lift me up out of toxic seas of oil,
blinding angels and feeding creatures,
strong in voice and void of soul.
“All men shall be sailors, then,
Until the sea shall free them...”
Drown in this:
Heroes are dying, drawing blood for
ink to put fear in the devil.
Fear is Doubt is Faithlessness.
My words are swords,
cutting through ephemeral
facades of this world in
indelible mind-ink.
When you no longer see me,
Know I am here.
This here-and-now will no longer be but was already…
Truth is and is and is…
Protect me not for I am fragile of body.
My soul is the rock of the divine.
I’ll die unfolding empty hands,
Before pumping a fist full of blood,
SOAPBOX
You say I’ve gotten
Carried away with my words…
That I type suicide pills
I don’t swallow
but serve to the
Unholy.
“Button up,” you say,
“There’s a chill coming.”
But it’s the winds of change,
carrying voices of the dead.
Come, carry me away!
MY VEIL
I will not reveal to you my
Breasts, nectar, hair and soil.
The grass is trampled over
And still there grows the rose.
I have hidden it, even from the sun
in hopes that if you see nothing,
perhaps you’ll see my soul.
I will be naked.
So naked,
You will not see me, as I ascend to
My Lover, the sky.
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