Buried Ashes

Listen again. One Evening at the close of Ramadan,
         ere the better Moon arose,
In that old potter's shop I stood alone,
         with the clay Population round in rows...
                           - Omar Khayyam

When I went to Iran
to see our homeland
after years in self-inflicted exile
I walked to the end of the silk road
of my memories and wept.

With pain and sorrow I saw a dreadful,
poverty-stricken dark land
of beggars, of barefoot children
with cheeks of tan and dust,
of a dying-blood-red sun trying to breathe
through the thick heavy clouds.

The peoples’ bellies were filled just enough
so they could survive - survive to see more of the misery,
survive to receive token dowries and pastries
for the blood of their raped virgins
in the prisons of oppression, survive
to see fellow human beings buried in a hole
up to their chests, stoned to death
by a murderous mob of howling beasts,
survive to find that questioning,
yes, even questioning, this bloodbath
was punishable by death.

…so much for freedom
…so much for hope
…so much for justice, and above all
…so much for our human dignity…

In the end, there is no excuse
to support Satan in the face of God.