The morning the sun didn’t rise

rivers of fire

"guided missiles, misguided men"

the morning the sun didn't rise

where do the birds fly to

where do the cats hide

in the city where

blood stained alleys

dissolve in acid rain

can the burnt trees still blossom

can this shattered season still change

will this sacrificed year ever end

caught between hell and under

fire on one side

bullets on the other

my father’s voice

coming through with static noise

is a chilling reminder

of the shortest conversations

during a different war

in a small phone booth

my selfless mother

I understand why you stay

I respect your decision

I envy your strength

and your kindness in crisis

I wish I had your courage

but here I am

drowning in worry

I come up for breaths 

every now and then

before the heaviness of my thoughts

pulls me under

Bullets or bombs (colors and bubbles)

when I close my eyes

I see dark smoke

skeletons of buildings

broken glass

black body bags

even in utter silence

I hear earth shattering blasts

the sounds of normal planes

over the blue Palo Alto sky

give me the chills

they always have

when I try to speak

my words falter

when you see me

in the morning

you don’t have to know

you don’t have to ask

I’ll be sure to wear my mask

I’ll smile at the colorful young children

that don’t know anything (yet)

about the cruelty of this world

I’ll imagine

that life is made up 

of colors and bubbles

fairies and rainbows

I’ll read you about dinosaurs

I’ll sing you a song

I’ll wear a cape with you

I’ll even try the wings on

so we can fly away together

at least for a little while..

by night that world shatters

colors turn to black

sunshine to smoke

two separate realities

two separate lives

when the smoke clears

I’ll look to recognize

I’ll start to realize

the nightmare before my eyes

but I’ll still pretend..to survive

I’ll pretend..to last

how can we mourn

and celebrate

at the same time

bullets or bombs

colors and bubbles

I feel robbed

It’s not fair, he said

I feel robbed

robbed of a friend..

I can’t believe

that I won’t see him anymore..

I hadn’t seen him crushed like this..

in years.

I was holding it together to help him through the night. But inside, I was wailing myself. Our friend’s music had touched my heart and traveled deep down into my soul. His voice was echoing in my head. It was the darkest night in a long time.

This dark night happened on a day that my eyes were already swollen and burning from tears. Tears for the blood of generations of people fighting for their freedom, dignity and basic human rights. Tears for a new low for human beings and what they are capable of. An existential crisis.

I was lost. I was showing up to work like a zombie again. A helpless immigrant drowning in the guilt of leaving and building another life for myself where I believed human dignity was comparatively more respected.

Why is honesty punished and truth deemed dangerous? It was as if I had never left. My body was pushing the portable sinks out at work to setup for children to wash their hands as they come into the classroom. But my mind was fearing bullets. My heart shrinking with worry.

When he called me to tell me our friend was gone, I was in denial. I hung up and pretended to go back to the kids. To sit with them and watch over them as they eat their lunch as if nothing had happened. But I wasn’t there. How long had I been gone?

How long will this go on?

The world was already dark. And now it’s so much emptier and darker without him in it.

There is a Light That Never Goes Out

I will find you

you might not be easy to spot

hidden nicely in a treasure box

sitting under a green tree

you might not be super bright

or shaped like a star

with a halo and sparkles

but I will find you

somewhere on my path

and when I do

I will realize

that I can’t touch you

you are free 

you are floating

you are small

but you are powerful

I can’t hold you 

but I can feel the air around you

I can’t put you in my pocket

and take you with me

but I can look at you

and remind myself

when I need to

that you were there

that you are there

that you are here

even in the deepest, darkest path..

Dedicated to my guiding light B.Z. 

(Picture: beautiful art in Moods. Wine Bar)

(Title: song title from The Smiths)

Not my Home

 

excuse my constant worry

my crumbled face

I’ve lost myself

excuse the tears

rolling down my cheeks

they’re my safety place

who was I before this

who have I become

what the hell is going on

excuse my bitterness

my utter lack of trust

this world is not my home

5. Courage

When she told me she had bought Matcha, I wasn’t surprised at the fact that she found it on the shelves in Tehran during a war. Tehran was an amazing and lively city, filled with life, shops, hip restaurants and bazaars everywhere and long into the night. A city of 10 million people, 70 percent of which were under the age of 30. What I was surprised at was her will to go and look for it in the first place during such horrific times. But I should have known better.

My mom has reached the summit of Alborz in Tehran that is 5,610 meters (18,402 feet). She has worked every day of her life as a hygienist in Tehran for more than 45 years taking pain away from people and providing her family with opportunities to live in freedom and live the actual lives they want. She has created centers of caring for children who are unprivileged in Tehran for free and is running them herself. She has survived a long war in the 80s when me and my brother were growing up in Tehran and spent one year of it away from my dad during the scariest time. Of course she would stay and go out on her hike even in the smoke of war, instead of leaving Tehran. Of course. My mom who tears up fifty percent of the times when we just talk on Facetime for living so many miles away from me. I can stay here and make a difference, she always says. Of course she did.

Matcha just took on a whole new dimension in my life.

4. Matcha

 

I called my parents on the Monday after we came back from LA. I had to go to LA. As hard as it was to pack. As hard as it was to think of having a vacation and trying to relax and enjoy myself when bombs are falling around my childhood streets, parks, cafes and bookstores.

I had to do it for my daughter. Why should she be punished and have her trip cancelled when she has done nothing wrong? Her view about Iran was already shattered by the news. She was looking forward to seeing her grandma and her newly born cousin.

I did it also for my husband who wanted to see his friend, take a day or two off work and maybe even enjoy the fact that his parents and brother’s family were all in LA and not Tehran. I couldn’t deny him that.

I did it for myself because I needed to stay away from my phone and the horrific images. I was falling apart. I couldn’t eat much. I had thrown up a couple times. I was crying everyday by myself and sometimes in front of my family. I needed to regain my strength and stay strong for my family and especially my parents. 

When we came back to Palo Alto the situation seemed like it had gotten worse. How long will this go on? How long can people survive like this? How long can I go on like this, trying to live and go on in my world, the world before the war started, as if nothing had happened? How long? 

I called my parents on Facetime knowing too well that it won’t connect. I started dialing their number staring into nothingness feeling numb from tears and worry. It connected. My parents picked up after days of me trying to reach them through my friends who lived in California but their parents live in Iran, just like me. Torn between two worlds. My friends’ parents would call my parents in Tehran and ask them to call me. 

It connected. They looked hopeful and in control as usual. I was worried and shattered as a broken mirror. My dad was still hopeful and assuring me that they are fine and everything will be fine. Then my mom told me something that I will forever be grateful for.

Just as summer had started I had discovered Matcha. A Japanese green powder that had completely transformed my life. I was suffering from so many migraines and digestive problems and then I came upon a video talking about the health benefits of Matcha. People were lining up in Palo Alto at a Matcha place that had recently opened and it seemed crazy to me to stand in such a long line because I actually tried it once and hadn’t liked it. Too bitter for ice cream. But I thought now that I knew about the benefits, I should give it another try. 

Before the war started, I had shared in a phone call with my parents about Matcha. I knew it could help my mom too. I had shared pictures of it and how I make it at home and how it had transformed my life to a life without pain along with Iron supplements, that my mom had actually always asked me to take. You and I are both anemic, she always said. 

That day in the fog of war, confusion and worry my mom shared that today she had gone to get groceries in Tehran and found Matcha. This was not bread or eggs or even chicken. It was Matcha. She showed me the package she had bought. I was almost in tears again but I held it together this time. 

As the bombs were falling and the number of dead and injured rising, I was still trying to drink Matcha. Now I thought of it as the elixir for a pain free life, the magic green potion. I needed to keep the pain away, especially now. I needed to hold onto something that was unchanged. There was no way I could take on the pain of migraines and the war at the same time. I would crumble. But I kept thinking about the fact that the thought of my mom finding Matcha is now such a farfetched and an unachievable thought in the midst of an actual war.

3. Paralyzed

 

I feel paralyzed. The last time I felt this broken was when I got Covid. I realized then, that to even speak, I needed energy. Now I realize that to cry, I need energy. Energy that I don’t always have. My fear then was losing my life. I was mostly afraid for my daughter growing up without her mother. But I am more afraid now. Not knowing if I will ever see my parents again. If I will be able to go on without them.

This has got to be the hardest trip of my life. I feel like a hostage waiting to be forced onto a plane going to Los Angeles. My body is sitting at gate 25 at San Jose International airport. My mind is in Tehran fearing bombs. My heart is beating beside my parents, my uncles and aunts, beside the innocent people of Iran, Israel, Gaza, Ukraine and many corners of the world worried about their safety.