شبحی می گذرد
از کنارم آرام.
به کجا می رود او؟
پی یک اندیشه؟
پس چرا می گذرد،
چمدانتش در دست،
نرم و خامُش چو سراب
در بیابان صبور
جای دوری به افق؟
ای شبح چون گذری
از کنارم اینسان؟
به کدام ره به غروری بی جا
می روی بی احساس؟
غرقۀ علم شمارش؟
من درین خانۀ کار
در پس این دیوار
خوی ریزان وصبور
می زنم یک دم گرم.
نیک بینم که نگاهت نگران
می گریزد به شتاب
زآذرخش نگه تیز درون افروزم.
بیست و هشتم اکتبر 2004
Fifteen years of my almost twenty years living in Canada I have been working different hourly-paid jobs in three restaurants, in Ottawa, Ontario, with a starting pay a little above minimum wage. Despite the official instructions and trainings and what they convey in general meetings, I have constantly witnessed the prevailing hypocracy that rules restaurant industry: the hypocracy that starts with top managers. As a norm, the managers in higher positions would not introduce themselves over the phone, they would not acknowledge employees’ presence when visiting restaurants, they would pass them without slightest respect, they would rarely even respond to their greetings. These disgusting scenes of arrogance inspired the above poem in Farsi and an eight-page-long English poem that I have written in “Ghaseedeh” style of Persian poetry. Following is one page of that long Ghaseedeh.
For my server co-workers
I have been watching this door that it might
As swing opens, you walk to my sight.
Your smile to mix with clear sunshine
To make my moments lovely and bright.
You and I are tied through many ties
To work at cafe that’s a real fight.
We receive craps from guests and boss
Forget suffering, we must be polite.
I see the polite boss red, screaming
“Did you promote quarter chicken white?”
Subject to his words, I often do hear:
“Your slow motion’s put guest to flight”.
When he growls before all teammates
“Caesar salad’s big; do you have a sight?”
I feel belittled, despised to my heart
In a shark’s mouth like a samll bite.
To meet this challange, we need endurance
You agree with me. Isn’t that all right?
Dining manager seats you to speech
In a grilling ceremony and rite.
To every mistake, head office freaks.
They do not care less, grave or slight.
The so-called visits from those bosses,
Put into our hearts threats and fright.
From nice office, they send caring norms.
Why not they obey the rules they invite?
They never say “Hi”, when they pass or call.
You say saying “Hi” dwindles their height.
With what arrogance, they pass beside us,
Their cases in hands, noses full of height!
I wonder what kind respect they arise.
What kind of passion in us they ignite?
Centuries after feudalism,
They truly walk with air of a knight.
They are different in their appearance;
The same relations, they want to incite.