The Grand Ayatollah

     Recently, it is reported, Mullah Nasrudin had seemed excited, but had said very slowly to his wife, “Finally I’ve made it home safely and I am alive… and now I have a thirst…”
     The Mullah’s wife, endeavoring to please him, interrupted him quickly. “Um, uh, oh yes: I am your soda, rose petals and mint. Add your yogurt to my virgin milk and I will do the dance of the veils.”
     “No, not that. I was going to say that I now have a great ‘thirst for life’ because I nearly died today.”
     “Again?” she muttered, but realizing she was speaking out loud, quickly said, “Oh dear. Tell me of today’s saga.”
     “I was riding my donkey towards the edge of a cliff, but I didn’t know there were any cliffs anywhere, and would have blissfully ridden to my death, had it not been for my hero who I’m recommending to be promoted to Grand Ayatollah.”
     “What qualifications does he have?”
     “Well, he speaks with a sticky tongue and catches insects.”
     The Mullah’s wife was puzzled. She presented a gentle interrogation: “I don’t understand — you had better explain how he saved your life.”
     “As I was riding towards my doom, a frog suddenly croaked loudly and startled the donkey. It rose up on its hind legs and threw me to the ground. Thus we avoided the cliff. As a good deed was done, I must reward the frog.”
     “Wait. What? You are going to ask that a frog be made a Grand Ayatollah?”
     “Yes, of course. Are there not many insects that buzz around the people?”
     “But…”
     “…and should not a noble tongue be sticky enough to remove the venomous words from the swamps of evil…”
     “But we don’t have any swamps nearby.”
     “And I don’t suppose you believe there are any cliffs to be avoided?”
     “Well, dear, I’m afraid I don’t understand, but if you must, write your letter as you always do and I will pray.”
     “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. But now, with all this talk I am dry but I must say I have a thirst…”
     “Yes, I know dear, you have a ‘thirst for life’ . “
     “No not that.”

Qods Day Undone

Every bird must
seize the wind while
all the tea is hot
and all the people stir

I dreamed I had feathers
felt breezes in Tabriz, and
saw government slogans
were like spit into the wind,
didn’t want to banter with chanters, though
I led chirps to life to music
took flight
into freedom
to lift away from history’s grip

Seize the whirlwind leaves of death
for rage of tears can brew the peoples’ tea

I dreamed I had feathers
read tea leaves in Rasht where
there are worms that make the silk for emperors
though emperors are worms themselves,
tasty for a bird to chew.

A bird can fly even
away from Tehran,
over the holy and
into a tea house,
flying lessons its gift

Mullah Nasrudin Bumps Into Things

     Mullah Nasrudin had a bad day. He kept banging into things, knocking over chairs. He even crashed into his wife.

     On the street it was quiet until Mullah Nasrudin crashed into someone innocently walking about at the bazaar.

     Mullah Nasrudin kept saying, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you coming.”

     Mullah Nasrudin came home with many bruises. His wife was exasperated.

     The Mullah’s wife asked, “Why are you walking around with your eyes closed?”

     “Because I am a religious student, and the Grand Ayatollah says these are the Nights and Days of Student Infamy.”

     The Mullah’s wife said, “Yes, I know you study the Mysteries, but you are covered in bruises.”

     “It is my sacrifice for the Old Revolution and …” The Mullah’s wife interrupted him.

     “Take my hand. I will lead you to a chair.You must be feverish and deluded. Explain further.”

     “The Ayatollah doesn’t lie,” said Mullah Nasrudin speaking carefully ,”and…” He hesitated. Nasrudin continued, “If it is night and students live in a world of dreams, I have no need to open my eyes.”

     She said, “I have a voice in my head, and I have no need to listen to you.”

     “What does it say?”

     “We must go to the cemetary.” and she led him there.

     He stumbled into a headstone and the pain was so great that he fell to his knees and opened his eyes.

     “What do you see,” she asked.

     I see what you hear: it is Neda. Their eyes watered the grass. In loving waves students flowed around their sorrow to lift them in song.

     This is no mystery the Mullah declared, and a young savant who helped them chant, invited them for tea at the university.

Three Turban Ahmadinejad

     Mullah Nasrudin couldn’t wait to tell his wife about his good luck at the Bazaar.
     “But you were gone a long time and you’ve brought nothing back,” she said
     “I discovered a new game at the Bazaar called “Three Turban Dinejad”
     “What happened,”she said, “you have nothing.What’s this game?”
     Mullah Nasrudin said, “One guesses.There are three turbans. Under one is 40 million ballots.”
     “You saw this? How is it possible to fit 40 million ballots under one turban?”
     “Well,” said Nasrudin, “they’ve been shrunk into mica & quartz chips — looks like sand.”
     “You have to guess under which turban is a pile of sand?” Nasrudin’s wife said.
     “Yes,” said Mullah Nasrudin, “and I guessed correctly and won a prize.”
     Mullah Nasrudin’s wife was excited, “What’s the prize?”
     “It’s a camel,” said Mullah Nasrudin.
     The Mullah’s wife was puzzled. “Where is it?”
     Mullah Nasrudin said, “It’s under my turban.”

Mullah Nasrudin Becomes King

     Mullah Nasrudin was excited but conflicted when he spoke to his wife, “The Supreme Leader has announced there will be a special election, but…as the presidential election caused chaos, the new election is for King, but there’s some special conditions…”
     The Mullah’s wife didn’t wait to hear the conditions.”You’ll make a fine King,” she said.
     “But the King is to serve for one year and then is expected to martyr himself in a foreign war.”
     The Mullah’s wife said, “Maybe you should run. I’ve always liked your brother–he could help you.”
     “Only a fool would run for this office,” Mulla Nasrudin said.
     The Mullah’s wife said,”Yes, of course, but that’s why you could win. I’ll make you a robe.”
     Mullah Nasrudin thought for a while and then said,”Yes, it’s decided, I will be King.”
     The Mullah’s wife was thoughtful, “You should write a will and I will marry your brother.”
     “That won’t be necessary. I can be King and live a long life.”
     She said, “You consider one year a long life?”
     “No,” he said, “on my last day as King, I will make a speech at the U.N.”
     Confused, she asked, “How will that help?”
     Mullah Nasrudin stood up in a Regal way and said, “I will abdicate and appoint the Supreme Leader as King.”
     “Will that work?” she asked.
     “No,” he said.”but you’ll love New York.”

Beyond The Dust Storm

Tear gas in the haze
canisters and batons,
oh hail freedom –
it stayed with us,all,for
we walked with God by the crack and hiss

Covered in blood
the flag of her clothing,
she grabbed my hand, said
run with me up Kargar street
and I will not be afraid

We prayed for the crowd
and the dust dispersed

Rising in the settling dust
Neda appeared
high in the sky
smiling at us, and
we walked with God July the 9th

The Weeping Willow Sings

Haunting shots
gushing
sorrows
stains,Basiji,
hear my Neda say
my heart stings

I hear singing in the leaves
moving branches
interleaving freedoms
like a green dream sad
autumn reds too early

But rivers of blood

Eyes open
nightmare on Kargar Street,
the world a bitter pixel

I hear my Neda sing:
it burned me

But I can not even mourn
outside Niloofar mosque.
The Ayatollah mocks my song, but
his mysteries don’t intrigue me anymore.

His evil is clear.

My heart sings the only truth, and
it burns me that he hasn’t remembered
his Mother

The Ayatollah is not a woman, not a man
never having any babies
and is ignorant of birth
ignorant of the cry
of freedom

Sea Of Neda

Impart us with courage, Neda
the Sea of Green parts for you;
cross over to
the promised Love, and
we give ours everywhere

Iranian Declaration Of Independence