the boy i adored at sixteen gifted me his keffiyeh 
feeling guilty for living when others were killed 
simply for existing i haven’t seen him in sixteen years 
but think of him often these days his grandmother’s purse 
still carrying keys to their home believing they’d return 
in weeks can it even be called a key 
if what it unlocked is no longer there? 
we’d sneak onto mall rooftops & pretend shooting 
only happened with stars! we have a duty of memory 
he said so they’ll kill us all until only the soil 
is witness how could i reply? i sat in my liquid silence 
today there are nurseries of martyrs 
they bomb babies for they fear enemies 
hiding between pacifiers & tiny wrists 
bomb hospitals because enemies hide in ICU bedpans 
bomb schools because enemies hide in children’s bags 
bomb the oldest mosques & churches because enemies 
hide in rosary beads & votive candles 
they bomb journalists because enemies are hiding 
under their PRESS vests & helmets 
bomb poets because enemies hide in pages 
of peace poems the elderly are bombed 
because enemies hide under their canes 
the disabled are bombed because they harbour 
enemies in their artificial limbs 
they raze & burn all the ancient trees 
because enemies make bombs from olives 
they bomb water treatment plants 
because enemies are now water 
& so it goes: justification provided 
exoneration granted business as usual 
& the boy I adored has green-grey eyes 
the colour of fig leaves 
we don’t speak but i wish to tell him 
i’m sorry the world is a blade i’m sorry 
home is blood & bones i’m sorry music 
is sirens & wails i’m sorry night is infinite
but the boy I adored has grey-green eyes 
the colour of forgotten ash 

Kamand Kojouri

the setting sun’s soft rays
scarcely light the faces 
of my fellow weary travellers
sons joke with their fathers
daughters sleep on mothers’ laps
friends play faded playing cards  
with an envelope for the missing jack
here a toddler’s hand under his chin 
like a scholar there a family roars
with laughter eating sunflower seeds 
from a pink plastic bag 
we breathe the crisp marmara sea
together suddenly i loved you
despite your circus of violence 
i love you Humanity!
with all your many ifs 
and your many thens

Kamand Kojouri

“You are here
sitting in front of me 
but so are all your lovers
your friends
and family too
every person you’ve been in life with
is at our table drinking wine 
and I wonder
have we ever been alone? Truly 
alone? and how can this be
when I, too, don my tribe
like pearls when I wear
my people like perfume”

Kamand Kojouri

“O woman
who is not separate from us
who is chained beaten strangled
this song is for you

O woman 
who is not separate from the homeland
who is oppressed silenced persecuted
this fury is for you

O woman
who rages against this regime
who marches resists protests 
this prayer is for you

O woman
whose wild tresses 
are tied with a noose
this cry is for you
we rise together for you 

O Mahsa
from your blood
poppies will grow
this revolution is for you”

Kamand Kojouri

I wrote my first haiku in honour of #GeorgeFloyd. Inspired by the beautiful poems by Paul Laurence Dunbar & Dr Maya Angelou. Also, the iris plant is named after the goddess of rainbow, referring to the “wide variety of flower colours found among the species.”

#BlackLivesMatter

“Spring irises bloom.
The caged bird no longer sings—
a knee on his throat.”

 

—Kamand Kojouri

“It is a strange time, my dear.
A novel virus haunts our streets.
Days feel like weeks,
weeks like months.
We’re blasted with new news every second—
yes and then no and then yes and no,
feeding our primal panic
to hoard goods and leave shelves
breadless, riceless.
They tell us the pandemic
makes all equal—the poor and very rich—
then why are the poor poorer
and the rich profiting?

It is a strange time, my dear.
Army men are marching our streets.
They force us to stay inside,
threaten and arrest
for a walk in the park.
They wage small wars against us,
but this battle began long ago.
The elite technocrats are crowing
in their silicone valleys
as corporations grow
and small businesses fold
with mountains of debt—
the centre cannot, will not, hold!

It is a strange time, my dear.
Mainstream media reports
the world has never been safer
as they terrorise the chambers
of our minds.
This stress, this anxiety
is killing our immunity.
But we must do it all for the elderly—
or so they say!
When have they ever cared for our elders?
When have they ever cared for our vulnerable?
We go to bed dreaming of toilet paper
while they dismantle the world economy.
Family businesses go bust
all so we can protect the people,
but only the people are suffering!
At the end of this, those retired
will have peanuts for pensions.
They are stripping us of everything
whilst our eyes are fixed on our screens.
And how dare we say it’s a strange time
when
in seven months
we’ll make America
great again.”

―Kamand Kojouri

“I try to envisage the passengers
seated in neat rows.
Everyone knows the real danger
is at take-off and landing,
but after an hour delay,
their plane was soaring. Relieved,
they whispered prayers, dreaming
of families and friends at arrival gates
clutching coffee cups and bouquets.
I like to think it was calm,
the plane blanketed by the dark’s caress.
Cellphones put away,
the cabin lights dimmed,
babies cooing in cots,
and refreshments on their way.
176 hearts beating in one narrow womb.
Closer to the heavens,
I know their journey was short—
earth angels for a while
who were returning home.”

—Kamand Kojouri

ref·u·gee noun: a person who flees for refuge or safety

“We are, each of us, refugees
when we flee from burning buildings
into the arms of our loving families.
When we flee from floods and earthquakes
to sleep on vouchsafed mats in sanctuaries.
We are, each of us, refugees
when we flee from abusive relationships
or shooters in cinemas
and shopping centres.

Sometimes it only takes a day
for our countries to persecute us
because of our race, religion, or opinion.
Sometimes it only takes a minute
for the missiles to rain down
and turn our towns into ruin and destitution.

We are, each of us, refugees
longing for that amniotic tranquillity,
dreaming of freedom and safety
when fences and barbed wires
will spring into walled gardens.

Lebanese, Sudanese, Libyan, and Syrian,
Yemeni, Somali, Palestinian, and Ethiopian,
like our brothers and sisters,
we are, each of us, refugees.
The bombs fell in their cafés and squares
where once poetry, dancing, and laughter prevailed.
Only their olive trees
remember music and merriment now
as their cities wail for departed children
without a funeral.

We are, each of us, refugees.
Don’t let stamped paper tell you any differently.
We have been fleeing for centuries
because to stay means getting bullets in our heads.
Because to stay means being hanged by our necks.
Because to stay means being jailed, raped, and left
for dead.

But we can, each of us, be someone’s refuge
so they don’t board dinghies
when they can’t swim.
So they don’t climb walls
with snipers aimed at their chest.
So they don’t choose to stay
and be killed instead.

When home turns into hell,
you, too, will run
with tears in your eyes screaming rescue me!
and then you’ll know for certain:
you’ve always been a refugee.”

Kamand Kojouri

“Do not succumb to the half-life,
to the indifference and apathy
of those cool and aloof individuals.
Nothing affects them.
Their lovers desperately cry
out for affection,
but they shrug their shoulders,
for they are always shrugging,
and transcend the messy drama
of the human situation.
Oh, this transcendental invincibility—
the shit of the bull!
Even Christ chose immanence
so He could feel as the people felt,
suffer as they did.
You must revel in your neuroses,
your sensitivities and sensibilities.
Burn your excitable characters,
do not extinguish this fire. Stay within.
Taste the immediacy of living.
Be in life with others.
Do not yield to the hypocrisy
the world demands!
Do not succumb to the shadows,
to the half-life, the half-light.
We are not gods.
Be human.”

Kamand Kojouri

“I am not separate from you, my neighbour.
If you are my enemy,
then I am my own enemy.
If you are my friend,
then I am my own friend.
Today, I have stripped off my masks
and come to know myself.
I am Christian. I am Jew.
I am Muslim and Hindu.
I am European and African,
Asian and South American.
I am man. I am woman. I am two-spirit.
I am gay. I am asexual. I am straight.
I am abled. I am disabled.
I am all these things because you are,
and you are all these things because we are.
I exist in relation to each of you—
this is what gives my being meaning.
Why must I label myself like a bottle of wine?
When I am the bottle, the wine,
and drunkenness.
Why must I label myself at all?
When I am the flesh, the light, and the shadow.
When I am the voice, the song, and the echo.
Tell me why I must label myself
when I am the lover, the beloved, and love.
I am not separate from you, my neighbour.
And you are not separate from humanity.
We are all mirrors,
reflecting one another
in perpetuity.”

Kamand Kojouri