poetryrepairs #246 18.02:022

FERESHTEH SHOLEVAR : A Respectable Woman
FERESHTEH SHOLEVAR : Somewhere in West Philly

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A Respectable Woman 

There I was, a woman of my kind ambitious, with beliefs and destinations in the pockets of my mind. My thoughts ran wild and my wishes weighed heavy in my brain Suddenly a black tornado of Revolution twisted in front of me and sucked me into its violent force with all my values. I was turned upside down and was covered with a dusty black veil which gradually dried the roots of my hair. I looked as small as a black bird whose wings were tied tight. My voice sank into my throat and my eyes, once burning flames lost their sparkles yet, I was called a respectable woman who was wearing the veil of chastity and free from sinister sins and passions. I was called the preserver of traditions, a messenger of ancient rulers, and a source of birth and holy love. I was like standing high above my body like a shadow watching the vultures of stale rules chewing my flesh cheerfully and swallowing my respectable remains. Yet, somehow I groped through the dark tunnel of obedience and found a sun-lit oracle on the other side

poetryrepairs #245 18.02:022

FERESHTEH SHOLEVAR Somewhere in West Philly

FERESHTEH SHOLEVAR Somewhere In West Philly. Twelve noon, on a breezy summer day I took a stroll up and down a Street when the sun burst into orange hues and leaves sang green hymns to the trees. Two crows were pecking at the guts of a squirrel smashed and dispersed in the middle of the road and reduced him to a bundle of bones and bloody skin. Two blocks up, sounds of foreign melodies and scents of exotic spices filled the air and a racist, leaning on the rails of his porch shouted: “These God-damn foreigners and their strange food’ One block farther, around the corner, an old man was watering two lonely flowers, standing tall, in the middle of broken beer glasses, combs, cigarette- butts and Crack. On 51st, in a Park, children of all nations were laughing heartily and playing carefree while their parents of different faiths were talking about peace and love. One block up, a few men with shaved heads and swastika on their arms entered an ethnic restaurant saying loudly “Let’s kick some butts here” On 52nd, a caravan of funeral cars and an ambulance, carrying an expecting mother, were crossing the intersection simultaneously. Across from the street, a few old men were playing Backgammon and talking about health insurance, politics and their homelands. A few blocks farther down, a big –busted woman threw a wig and a broken denture out of the car, lit a cigarette looked at her four children with runny noses and shouted: “How the hell am I going to feed you?” Going back, a homeless man, mentally challenged, too, curled in on himself like a snail, begged tediously for his crack money, dreaming of fresh linen

poetryrepairs #245 18.02:022


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