The Book Of Arda Viraf Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

The book of Arda Viraf

News says: "Cousin died."

His name was Seifollah.

We have met, in our lives
Far less than fifty times,
But still, share blood.

And I think,
And I read.

In Iran war goes on
The youths against mullahs.

And I think,
And I read.

And I wish I did not,
And I wish I could not.

Easily I accept:
"Ignorance is bliss."

How I wish I was deaf,
How I wish I was dumb.

Hear this every day:
"Living is too bitter,
For the old, and aware,
When lacking everything! "

And still, crazy,
Keep thinking,
And reading,
And writing!

How I wish was like her,
A colleague named Karen.

She thinks she is the world
And others don't matter.

She swears and gossips,
Selfishly sells her colleagues.

And of course, believes in
Being the best, most perfect.

By the windshield of her truck
She has hung a black cross.

Has tattoos on both arms,
One for dad, one for the dog.

She wants all for herself,
Does not care for neighbors.

Limited in knowledge
Knows of cones, delineators,
Thinks she is some professor.

Ignorance is bliss.
Ignorance is bliss.

Wonder why those like me
Read Dante's Inferno
And Milton's Paradise
And the past until now
Oppositions, left and right
To the heavens and stars
And about the nations,
Continents, Black and White
To Gulag, Siberia,
To Kremlin and Peking,
Da Vinci in the Louvre,
And Catherine's Hermitage.

Ignorance is bliss.
Ignorance is bliss.
Ignorance is bliss.

But still, crazy,
Keep thinking,
And reading,
And writing!