Editor’s Note: These poems originally appeared on the website of the Association of Iranian American Writers.
A Truth that Has Left Them Shaking
These are hopeful, dismal days.
We sit by a computer waiting for a sliver
of light and news to cut through
darkness. Names smeared and women
weep for sons and daughters disappeared
or discovered beaten in jails.
There is an echo to all this.
This is not a revolution. Yet
we wonder what it is.
The turbaned men unleash their thugs
And on the rooftops at dusk, the cries
of young people, invoking
Allah-u Akbar — God is Great!
Today, the smoke has cleared
and streets are quelled into submission.
But my cousin’s voice through the telephone
is decidedly clear: we will never forget those days
when we walked arm-in-arm fearless —
mouths silent, but hearts full
of a truth that has left them shaking.
I Am Neda
Leave the Basiji bullet in my heart,
fall to prayer in my blood,
and hush, father
— I am not dead.
More light than mass,
I flood through you,
breathe with your eyes,
stand in your shoes, on the rooftops,
in the streets, march with you
in the cities and villages of our country
shouting through you, with you.
I am Neda — thunder on your tongue.
Post-Modern Ekphrasis Ghazal
Behind the typical Persian images
The artist posts CNN images.
How they pierce the Orientalist gaze,
The cut and bruised olive-skin images.
Defiant Mousavi posts his “not by
The hair of my chinney chin chin” images.
Since the big crackdown, we’re all wondering
What happened? Where have you been, images?
When I saw people die, I gave up porn
To obsess on these new sin images.
Khamenei and Khomeini for the West
Create identical twin images.
You’re in cameras while bullets are in guns.
How can you possibly win, images?
My family recalls seventy-nine
And those killing of our kin images.
Ever prescient Bob Dylan foretold
These new blown-in-the-wind images.
I click throughout the world for real answers,
I get this reply again: images.