We used to be
the Switzerland of Pakistan
many orchards
much fruit
much minding.
In my mind I see
the mulberry trees,
see much fruit, the
plum of the valley
minding apricots, damson
cracking walnuts like jewels
minding a fig leaf
a grape, the jujube
minding these and the olive tree
in my dreams of Swat Valley
We thought
like fruit flies
insurgents could be thwarted
could be swatted
In exile, my
restaurant work is a meditation
chopping lamb into chunks
into pieces, coalescing
thoughts for peace
charcoal broiled
hoping coalition forces will
bring a peace home, but I
am mashed chick peas
and tahini: the skeleton of
the sesame seed, fallen, my
kernel floated and crushed
feeling pasty, stuck in New York
rolling out an unfamiliar phyllo flat
with pistachios and honey sadness.
Oh the strutting about,
the grazing on tables where
all the world's a
thoughtless stage, confused
the size of Delaware
the size of Swat
valley of rotting fruit
and war.
Stand up for Swat Valley
the Switzerland of Pakistan
The Taliban
have kidnapped
my Father, and
from here in refuge
I work to earn a ransom, the
flowers of my Swati meadows
in my mind, my eye,
the charcoal smell of my
burnt house wafted in a nostril
Oh Pakistan,
for every truce I die,
while every envoy
seems to fiddle
with Shariah at the door.
Ref: New York Times, February 17, 2009, "From a Pakistan Valley, Taliban Threats are Heard in New York" by Kirk Semple pp. 1,A12 bottom ; "Pakistan Makes A Taliban Truce, Creating Haven." by Jane Perlez, p.1, p.A12 top.
comments welcome
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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all right and all good, acourse---
cut away the chaff, find the poem within---
for instance, this could stand by itself:
In exile, my
restaurant work is a meditation
chopping lamb into chunks
into pieces, coalescing
thoughts for peace
charcoal broiled
hoping coalition forces will
bring a peace home, but I
am mashed chick peas
and tahini: the skeleton of
the sesame seed, fallen, my
kernel floated and crushed
feeling pasty, stuck in New York
rolling out an unfamiliar phyllo flat
with pistachios and honey sadness.
(essence, not rumination, leave the reader free, not chained)
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Oh, my heart aches for the sheer sadness and insanity in the world. This is beautifully written, the allusions to the fruits of the valley so delicious, highlighting the shame of war even more. I am so glad I clicked. Thank you for writing.
Lita
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The sad destructiveness of war is destroying the wonderful cultures of the people of Pakistan , Afghanistan and India for the selfish reasons of power and hate by a small amount of individuals and does not reflect the majority who only want to live in peace ..your poem almost bought me to tears ...these wonderful peolpes destroying themselves believing the fundamentalists and Western nations are making it worse
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Very good write. It is amazing how war and strife can couse so much culture of a contry. Even the simpleist thing such as food be set asunder.
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I thought this was a really great piece of writing! What our troops are doing interfering in Pakistan I surely dont know, what good will it do. Let these people get on with their lives is what I say.
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ahhh....excellent.
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Thanks very much. It's an odd combination because even with the Times article as a base, it was hard to find out anything about Swat valley -- I only could find something on the internet listing native trees and geography. And then the article mentioned exiles working in a Greek restaurant and I wondered how greek food would fit... but I used what I had. Sometimes it's hard to find something poetic about a news article... but if the people mentioned express emotion, it makes it easier to write a poem. Sometimes clinical descriptions are hard to deal with, in that it's not always good for triggering the imagination.
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