Rat And Shoes Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Rat and shoes

Mostly fun; was funny
My time when was devil
Some young boy, playing.

Daily thought was mainly
Around my boyish needs,
Like was reading, writing.

Surely, observed the things
That happened around me.

Some joyful, some gave pain,
Hated them and suffered.

The young men were same as
The "West Side Story."

With their knives, an alley
Went against another…

Neutral and small
I stood and witnessed.

I could not see cause of
Violence, bloodshed!

Disgusted, saw them catch
The rat, pour gasoline,
And set it on fire
Stroke their matches!

Was not yet teen, Tehran,
Was going to skies,
Almost reached million,
I could not see the why!

I was young brother
Worked in shop as helper.

Strong for my age,
Was not yet student.

Watched train in the move
Some on its roof
Therefore, chose doing same,
Ran along and hopped over.

Held the bars on one side
And fell with many shots
Of sticks on my sides:
"Why can they but not I? "

Neither asked nor feared
Kept in me the question
Un-replied as always,
So, never saw the depths!

Now, many years later,
Answer is "Time changes."

Nobody should ever
Choose past for presents,
Changes come as go years,
For the "Worse" or "Better."

Right in time I mentioned
Beneath the mobs' actions
Humble things took place
To heat, heal like embers.

The actors were angels
Devoted, hard workers.

They knew the cause of
Misbehaved youngsters.

Gathering in schools
Organised rendezvous
Or in Bazaar, elsewhere
To fight with corruption.

I happened to learn this
Too many years after
Was no more teenager.

Schools were government's
With poor, no good budget
That poorly paid teachers,
To keep them leashed, in rein.

The payment came from
The tax and the sold oil,
Sure, after the Royals
Embezzled their big parts.

Our angels were teachers,
And parents, conductors
With good hearts, intention
Permanent, devoted, forever.

Long before New Year
Came to me my teacher
And gave me some paper
On which was an address.

Can never lose, forget
Few words that she said
With smile, pleasant:
"This is for good grade! "

I took that to Bazaar
To Amiri, shoe-shop.

He measured my feet and
Handed me some shoe box.

Like Christmas and sock
I opened in right time.

Good and bad, parallel
Walk and are in the race
In same farm, caretakers
Are angels and gangsters.

Grade was excuse
They knew I was poor.

They knew students
Will make the future
As learned and doctors,
And in long, government.

Such behaviours, actions
Distanced me from the
Becoming gangster.

Whenever talk, converse
With myself or others
I withhold my judgement.

I accept: "Brutal, crazy,
Could be things of the past
Like burning the poor rat
Or fighting with the knives."

But convince listeners
To agree and confess:
"Many were devoted
To helping the helpless."

I always look at us
As if lifting mirror,
Mirror has two faces,
The rough and reflector.

We, people, in single,
And socials as nations,
Can be cold as winter
And fruitful summer.

Should we die for the past?
Was it good and must last?
What can we think of then?

We live on Mother Earth
It brings nights and days
To us all, East and West.

I love to search for depths,
And delay in judgement!