Multiple Personality Disorder

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We’ll Be Here to the End

I dreamed every night,
for a whole week.
I dreamed no one came.
We were all lone and bleak.
But,
what went on yesterday was a delight.

To go, or not?
Up to the last minute,
I had doubt,
but,
when my mother yelled,
“Aren't you ready yet?!”
I grew wings!  Took to the air!

Yet still,
let’s not talk about my mother's fears,
but at least, let’s just say this,
when she saw the brainless thugs,
she said let's go back.
I mean,
what my mother, and dad, said,
obviously, just about broke my back.
Nevertheless,
at the end we forged ahead.

Needless to say,
I was concerned for my mom.
Her color had turned pail,
yet, she remained hopeful and calm.
Although, she wouldn’t let me out of her sight.

“Don't take out your green,
“until we reach the crowd.”
she kept on saying,
being worried, yet proud.
Talk of rapes had scared them both,
without a doubt.

When we reached the crowd,
when I finally took my green out,
in front of my mother, and my dad,
a man,
with a two-way radio in his hand,
called me an ugly name,
He was so viscous and mean!

"Take off your veil!
Go to the front of the crowd.
The British Ambassador is personally handing out cash!"
The viscous man said, calling me a little trash.

I just thanked God,
my mother did not hear what he had said,
or else, we might, have gone home, instead.

When we reached the crowd,
When we finally reached our goal,
clear and loud,
I wholeheartedly unleashed my spirit and soul.
I couldn't believe my eyes!
As far as I could see, everything was green!
Birds of freedom everywhere!
Birds of freedom flying in the air!
My father, mother, and I,
also spread our wings, took to the air!
How splendid it was!  
Those clapping hands!
O!  How we were enthralled!

Thank you to all who came,
all of them a friend.
We all had a common aim.
We’ll be here to the end.

Footnote:  This poem is based on an online Farsi entery posted the day after Ashura Day protests, 27 December 2009.