In our refugee camp

I met this woman
everyday disturbed
clearly sad

She had no name
she had lost her soul

A soul without peace
her peace out of see
she walked and walked
inside the borders of the green land
to turn days into the nights
and nights into the days

The motionless life

The anxious times

She walked and walked
to process her past
to cure the doubt

To settle with the mistrust

She walked and walked
to ease the nostalgic pain
to capture the disruption

She was a woman

Integrity in doubt

Inadequate and less than

She walked and walked
never said “hi” back
to my “hi”
maybe once
maybe twice
only with her lifeless eyes
only with her lips
that barley moved
she was a woman
forced to leave

Inadequate and less than

She was a woman
pushed to the edges of no one

The cross line of confusion

The internalized sense of oppression

She walked and walked

Inside the borders of the green land
she walked and walked
one foot in front of the other

And she told soundless stories
in the miles of remorse
I met this woman
felt her despair
never said “hi” back
maybe once
maybe twice
only with her far reaching eyes
yet she walked and walked
to turn days into the nights
and nights into the days

in the observer eyes
she was hurt
she was a woman
she walked and walked

She lived in our refugee camp

And I never saw her again.

Stockholm 1996
Poran Poregbal

 

This poem is about a woman who in a refugee camp the mid summer of 1987.

My Great Grandmother

Forogh Cobra Astaneha

(1915-1987)

Wisdom she had plenty of

My great grandmother I’ve never met

Brave and strong, she was a warrior

With immense respect for herself and others

Or to say “tender”

Grace she had plenty of

Had a taste for all the good

Or to have “style”

She always wore formal

Or to show “elegance”

Her hair was straight, long, and soft as silk

With her deep and bold brown eyes

She always had a small-think grin

Or to view the “profound”

Proud she was yet humble and human

Her life was a fairly tale, yet painful

She made a choice very early

To live her dream life

No matter what

Or to say with “joy”

My great grandmother

I’ve never met

Yet as a kid they told a lot about her

Stories I kept to my hearth and got warmed up

Stories that helped me dream

Or to say “legacy”

Time must have halted when she passed away

The love and cherish people had for her

She died a proud woman, being 72

Everyone yearned for her help

For the gifts of love she had plenty of

Or they say “compassion”

Time must have halted when she passed away

The hardship of last lonely years was over

Yet she was ready

To move on

Or to say “heaven”

She witnessed the unfair world

She knew the unjust life

Yet she had made a choice

For which she never looked back

Or to be “free”

She felt for the weak and poor

Shared the love with the loveless

Or to state”hope”

Forogh Cobra Astaneha

She was the youngest of three

Mother died early on

The vivid memory of the mom

She always talked about

A good connection to her father

She was proud of

Or to show “attachment”

The love for her older siblings

She always shared with others

Or to confirm “happiness”

My great grandmother passed down the worship

To my grandma and my mom

While grandma missing her a lot

As she was not given to her mom

As women did not have voice

Or to have “rights”

My great grandmother become close to my mom

Mom was first grandchild

She told stories of herself to mom, aunties, and uncles

Hoping they would pass it on

Or to let us “keeping it alive”

My great grandmother knew magic

Magic would happens when it was least expected

Yet magic could be stopped at the door

If you did not open your heart

Magic would blow your mind away

Like the seasons magical transformations

And the stars magical light

Or to speak of “god”

Forogh Cobra Astaneha

Her first marriage lasted only two years

Refusing to be abused

She claimed her dignity

And asked for divorce

Or to “find her way”

Divorce a doomed taboo

She took it to her heart

The brave warrior she was

She stood up for herself

And ignored the blames

Or to declare” self-control”

Two other marriages

Was what she had

Lived happily ever after

In every relationship

Her daughter or my grandma

Never had the chance

Of being only with the powerful mother

Her life could be different

If this brave great grand ma could decide

My grandmother came for visits

With wagon and white horses

With the chauffeur and servant

Who carried all the baskets of gifts

She bribed everyone with gifts

To be kind to her only child

Who was living with the step-ma

Who not always was kind

The story of Cinderella was reversed

And grandma got mentally ill

Very early on

Or they say “crazy”

My great grandmother tried hard

And lived her luxurious life

With many gold coins to tip

Places to go, people to meet

Yet my grandma was away from her

And great grandmother could do little

Or better say due to “patriarchy”

My great grandmother

Lived a life with dignity and self respect

Her legacy stays with me forever

Even though I never met her

She lives inside of me

As a spirit of love

Or the legacy of hope

And self-confident.

This was the story of my great grandmother

Beloved Forogh Cobra Astaneha.

Your Great granddaughter

Vancouver 2001

 

Conceptualizing Growth is healthy. How?

That day came again

My heart was laughing

That day came again

The familiar early morning breeze

Whispering love poem in my ear

I lived again

And I developed

And I learned to walk again

Do not ask me how

As we do it differently

We do it individually

Me, you, and they

We do it differently

We choose

And we develop

Do not ask me how

I lived again

My heart was laughing again

It happened when I let go

It came

When I considered life

When my soul required lift

And I did it.

September 1996

Stockholm

www.middlepeace.com

 

 

“being no one”

My heart was sad,

That day I moved to the future.

My heart was sad

That day I left.

My heart was cloudy, cold, and frightened

With no sight of spring

My spirit was in revolution

And heavier than the rainy sky

There was no difference any more,

Who knew who I was?

What I wrote,

Or how I thought

Now even my written thoughts

Was sad and depressed

Now, I was noting,

With no identity,

With no name.

A lonely woman, with no connection

My loneliness had even reached the ocean

Now I was noting,

With no result of all the struggle.

1996
Stockholm

About Being No One

Being No One is a poem that was written back in 1996 and it was put on the website for (www.Poetry.com ) for a couple of years.

This expression of emotions was originally written in Persian, yet, in year 1998 it was translated to English with reservation for lack of transparency or weaker tone of voice. The poem itself is a snap shot of a life for years of immigration, lack of identity, and hopelessness that came along with many other new unexpected life situations.

Being No One describes years of darkness, when life for many Iranian was dark, special for those who were forced to leave in early 1980’s. The depressive tone of the poem is due to the loss of identity and loss of the self for a young woman, a young mother, and a young human being. This poem itself relates to the notion of identity crisis for huge number of immigrants who have to pass the pathway of “being no one” when they migrate. I have observed many people who in every walk of life during first years of migration express the level of loss and grief. This poem has to be studied with the expression of hope, resiliency, and strong will arriving at the intersection of despair and devaluation of the new life. The result could be positive if /when we learn to walk again.

April 24, 2007

Poran Poregbal

www.middlepeace.com