Different Cultures Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Different cultures

It was in late fifties
And I was not yet ten
But was a shopkeeper.

I weighed items, sold
As the shop owner,
Boss was my brother.

There, he was, parents,
With great intentions
For me, my future
But believed in beating
For teaching, training.

He slapped and kicked,
Grabbed what could see,
Double-faced hammer
To slam on the anvil,
Hot iron was me…

In times boxes' lids
That we had emptied
Of fruits, fresh greens
The nails as fangs, teeth.

Poured blood from face
On toes, thighs, or chest.

Unlike him my tool
Was tears of kid.

Sad and desperate,
Broken, shattered,
Had nowhere to go,
Could not find a cave
Like those in village.

Missed my birthplace
In heart of mountains,
With farms, villagers,
As farmers, shepherds.

Parents were forced, obliged
To care for us, all:
"The younger must help
The elders advance…"

I came of village
With our own culture,
And now encountered
Others, different!

Difference, divide,
Was a kind of shock
To me and my life,
And I could not talk.

In times, customers
Came forward to help,
Grabbed and took me
Far from brother…

One of our neighbours
Named: "Hassan, Uncle, "
Two doors to our west,
Had married ex-whore.

Once she took me and
Hugged me very tight
And taking some cloth
She cleaned the blood…

Though thankful to saviour,
Lost was my conscious,
In me fought cultures:
"Damn and dirty are
Such wives and husbands! "

She, my great caretaker,
Came up with a plate,
And deeply confused,
I was of our cultures,
Felt like could never eat
The food of a chador-less!