Unwanted fortune


Unwanted fortune
by Manoucher Avaznia

I was teenager

When the winds blew

Over oilfields

With intensity:


Petrol price hiked.

Oil became gold,

Evern more dear.


Oil wasn't found

Near my hometown;

My Crowned Father

Had no permission

From the neighbor

Explore oil

Near my abode.


In practice, though

It had been agreed

And understood

By near neighbors

And the far friends

Of my Crowned Dad's

My abode stayed



Where to develop,

How to develop,

What track to go,

And the goals to reach,

Were all determined

Solely on terms

Friends dictated.


Oil had been dug

In our rich lands

Somewhere in the south

Some decades before;

By some foreigners:


Who ruled the globe

For their interests

And material gains.

And thus it had caused

Many, many pains

Bitter strife.


Its influence

And its deepest pangs

Those days had surfaced.


Oil brought home

In very short time

Riches and money,

Unheard of, indeed,

To ruling elites

And their life-style

And their entourage

And far-off friends.


For us as masses,

It brought along

Sickening fumes,

And disgusting scents,

Of power and wealth,

And social changes;

Consecutive shocks,

Many crises.


Oil was burning

Somewhere very far;

Continents away,

In the lucky lands

Of Daddy's friends'.


It was giving warmth

To every aspect

Of their lovely life:

Moving it ahead

Like a space ship

From low levels

To higher spots.


Because of that use

And its energy,

Our life was ruined:

Result of their wealth

Became like smoke,

That moved like clouds,

All the way to us

Like a living thing

On seeking journey

Of its origin.


We asked the smoke

To leave our skies,

Our green fields;

To leave us alone

With our own life.

We begged earnestly.

Pleaded with saints.

And cried aloud:

"O Black Clouds;

Sickening Smoke;

Hear our voice.

Look at our gestures.

We need the moonlight,

And clear skies,

Clean springs.

We want see stars."


But smoke was deaf,

And also blind.

It couldn't see us

Crying for light

And clear sunshine.

We were never heard,

As it was a norm.

They showed no respect

Even for the saints.


That was the reason

Plague descended

Upon green fields,

On our orchards,

Upon big cattle,

Also on the lambs,

Huge herds of goats.


Fountains dried out.

Streams stopped.

Forests became fields,

Without spirit,



Life-style that was

Always a relief,

Became a burnden

Upon our shoulder.


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