Irish Encounter Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Irish encounter

It was in Heathrow when
-I was paged…

You may not ever know
-the feel of being called
-in lobby of airport…

Is painful when called to…
-the looks are like flame
-sparked on the arrows to float!

I was called to counter
-for sake of my passport.

Was walking on fire
-till reached there.

They meant to check my bag
-because of departure
-as well as arrival;
-and I felt embarrassed!

Inside me the blood
-was boiling in bubble.

I could burst or collapse…
I could shout and blast…
Felt fuel on my head…
Every eye was needle…

Needles had poison!

This is pain that I know
-of people…selected…
-pointed and mentioned
-just because are weaker.

Ay, friend in Europe
-and those of USA
-please think, remember
- "Actions cause reactions! "

I stayed in London
-to find me painkiller
-went to bar and sat there
-met some youths…

Found righteous in comment:
- "Irish is stubborn! "

They were bombs, grenades
-all of us together
-cursed Queen and system
- (as blind to factors
-that cause hate-disaster.)

Before this trip I
-visited Lyneham and Swindon
-travelled many times to Bath and to Oxford.

History set aside
-looked at hosts as friends
-lived with them for today
- (left on side ancestors!)

But the act of airport
-stirred mind and my soul
-took me far closer
-to Irish who did curse
-brutal injustice
-of rulers of London.

Looking back at those days
-I feel shouting in cave
-to refrain of anger
-but seed is deeply sowed;
-shell and sheath are spoiled
-and grows the blade
-as grass after rain,
-each time I encounter
-Irish man or woman.
-Together we raise voice
-to shout out from lungs:
- "Go to hell, you Devil! "