Khwajah Piruz خواجه پيروز

The beginning of Spring coincides with Easter and the Iranian New Year of Nowruz.

Skendong

Many of you don’t know me.
My name is Khwajah Piruz.
Mazdayasnian Fire Keeper,
The herald delivering Nowruz.

Cleanness rebuffs all evil.
Purge the home, paint the walls, spruce the garden.
‘Khane Tekani’ is essential –
And annual visitations common.

They nourish the growth of your sabzeh,
That slept during cold winter days.
Now lentils, barley and wheat abounding,
Your ancestors’ wishes purveyed.

It’s Khwajah Piruz, only one day a year,
Everyone knows, I know as well.
I bring good news, Nowruz is near,
Siyâhi-e to az man, zardi-e man az to.

Many of you don’t know me,
My name is Khwajah Piruz.
Khwajah is Lord, Piruz victorious,
The herald delivering Nowruz.

I probably came from Mogadishu,
Though this is not the mainstream view.
Marauding Arabs conquered the Persians,
Then changed my name to ‘Hajji Firuz.’

Don’t confuse me with Bilal al Rabah,
The Meccan, the black muzzein.
My origins…

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The Soul unto itself

I step on the bus from Cheetham Hill
& sit down & take my seat. It’s calm.

A man is speaking Punjabi though
I don’t understand it much. I thought

he was talking to himself but he’s not.
Another spoke Spanish with his mate.

I don’t understand it much.
A mature lady sits at the front.

She dons a pink woolly bobbled hat,
covering disheveled metallic hair

nervously biting her fingernails.
Thick black framed glasses obscure

her blush red eyes. She’s crying
as she whimpers on the phone.

I can’t fathom what she’s saying.
Partly ignored, we sped towards our

destination and on reaching
the central stop I step off behind her.

Clutching Burberry bowling bag
she melts away into the evening

as I footstep to the Crown & Kettle.
God made yeast as well as dough.

a cruel lesson

blue planet beams into my room
via the television. i am no expert
on what is under the oceans but
i am learning migration routes

of whales & spinner dolphins –
& see a dumbo octopus unearthed,
never captured on film before.
70% covered by sea there’s

a lot of death going on.
the giant trevally launched out
of the water & snatched
a fledgling tern, snapping

back under before eating it.
ever seen a fish kill a bird?
strange world.
my daughter enters the room

& asks
is it fish & chips tonight?
i agree. can taste that cod
on my palate already.

ruminants

crack of light replenishes
as I stroll in thundering
rain.

at the yellow tram stop
it pains me to huddle
under pelted shelter

a multitude of strangers
take cover.
i stand in the open gaze

waiting, not fazed
by solely water pelting down
but i frown when hooting
tram arrives

yellow carriages cramped
a multitude of strangers
heading towards the city.

event on the horizon

they sat on a warm wooden bench in the remains of a Roman Fort.
the moon a cream quarter and fleet footed bully time forcing his

finger tracing high constellations. then he fixed on the brightest.
that burning spark will some day die, succumbs to the vacuum finale.

a black hole is like this she interjected and spread her arms horizontal.
what’s behind the blackness? i dread speculate, though

it might be inquisitive to stir such debate. his hands shape Timeout.
they stand and walk along the cobbled floor onto Every Street.

already done

there are things in life
not meant to be
but reality said
already done

contemplating another way
free from constraints
the whole of the mind
not a piece

i seer back in time
reviving memories
bliss and deep sadness
stir the flashbacks

but nostalgia’s comforting
from this point of view
i see my shadows
a reason for living

so on with the present
with things not meant to be
but reality said
already done.