BEWILDERED
I was sitting in a coffee shop with a friend of mine
Speaking and reminiscing in Farsi about Iran
I saw from the corner my eyes an old man
Sitting across from where it looked like a dark den
I could feel his energy rubbing against mine
I saw him shake his head with annoyance
Expressions resembling hate
His nostril flaring while fidgeting in his chair
He walked up to us and the atmosphere silenced to a halting death
Then he broke the silence and raised his voice as loud as he could muster a sound
He pointed his shaky finger straight up to my face
Looked down where I was sitting and said:
Why don’t you go back to your desert and tent?
Why don’t you get out of here and go back
You fucking immigrants have ruined our peace of mind and land
He stood there bravely waiting for a response
Sticking his chest out with arrogance and an untouchable nonchalance
I stood up and took a deep breath
I saw centuries’ of old struggle cross my path
I looked him square in the eyes and softly said:
Sir, first of all this isn’t your land
This is the First Nation’s land
You came and took it
They have endured your abuse for centuries’ end
But this is where this ignorance ends
Then I raised my finger up to his face
Raised my voice louder than I’ve ever have
And said:
Listen to me old man; I’m in your land because you’ve been in mine
I’m here because of you meddling in my desert and tent
Because you went to pull the tent from over my head to make me bend
To steal the black liquid in the sand
The gems embedded in the cliffs of my land
I will leave your land the day you can undue history
The day you can unravel history’s murderous mysteries
Until that day, you’re stuck with me and your misery
Than I dropped my voice a notch and said,
Until the day you can undo that past
You have no choice but to walk with me on this same soil you call your so-called land
He mumbled something and walked away
Before he disappeared he looked back and spat on the ground
I stood there baffled at this man’s hate
I stood there dumbfounded at this argument’s weight
I stood there perplexed with both sides of the argument’s negate
What an uncivilized debate!
I sat back down bewildered at our fate
And I don’t mean “ours” as in Iranians and immigrants
I mean OURS – as in the human race…
Parisa Yazdi
