Avideh Shashaani Featured Poet

Avideh Shashaani

Sep 01, 2014

I met Avideh Shashaani in the mid 1980's when she was translating poetry from Perisan to English. She was a poet herself and able to transform ancient work into silky language. But she had other Persian documents that had been rendered to flat (literal) translations. She was looking for some DC poets to turn them to "poetry." I was a program officer at National Endowment for the Humanities; producing radio or WPFW; and running a small press, with daily appearances at home as wife and mother. I said No. But I would provide her with others: Robert Sargent, Ann Darr, etc. Avideh had been listening to "The Poet and the Poem" on-air and decided I was the one for her. I said NO thank you again. One day I came down the steps in "The Pavilion at The Old Post Office" for lunch and there at the bottom of the steps was AVIDEH with a sheaf of papers under her arms. My life has been blessed with goodness and love ever since. -Grace Cavalieri

Avideh Shashaani, founder and president of the Washington, D.C. nonprofit Fund for the Future of our Children, works through the Fund to develop multicultural programs that encourage young people to be agents of peace in local and global environments. She brings to this undertaking her vast experience and leadership in working to empower uprooted women, to promote the rights of children and women with disabilities, and to achieve social justice and tolerance, by serving on the boards of such organizations as Refugee Women in Development, MOSAICA: The Center for Nonprofit Development and Pluralism and as the first Co-Director of the United Nations’ International Institute for Rehabilitation in Developing Countries.

Avideh was appointed by the UN Secretary General to the United Nations Expert Group Meeting on the "Socio-Economic Implications of Investments in Rehabilitation of the Disabled". She promotes intercultural and interfaith understanding through lectures, workshops and publications, including her books, Promised Paradise, Remember Me and Tell Me Where To Be Born, and her translations into English of Persian mystical texts. She received her Ph.D. in Sufi Studies. Her literary endeavors have also extended to a five year term as Vice President of the Literary Friends of the D.C. Public Library.

Ascent

My soul,

do you know

why the candle flame

looks serene and sad

It watches its

reflection mirrored

in the pool

made of its own

slow death

It knows it must

burn and melt

so it can see itself.

A PLEA

to the powerful of the world

Whose child will be next

mine, hers, his, yours

whose

In the name of your

children,

In the name of mercy

In the name of justice

Don’t let your hands

be stained with the blood

of innocent children

Unfetter the bonds

that bind your hands

Don’t you know

power’s glory lasts

but a nanosecond

Don’t you know

the memory of shame

rises with the fall of power

and haunts us to the grave

Power has no triumph

when children are blown to pieces

Turn your face to the power

of justice and compassion

It’s not too late to stop

the rivers of innocent blood

It’s not too late to let

power crown its own death

Let peace bury

the glory of power.

We Are Where You Are

When you sit in your comfortable

chair and look up at the sky

on a breezy summer day

When you sit in your comfortable

chair and gaze at the star-filled sky

on a summer night

Whenever and wherever

you sit quietly

And hear a gentle hum

or a gentle whisper

in your heart

It’s our prayer for

you

I am the uncounted number

I’ll be praying for

you

I and all

counted and uncounted

children you sent to their

graves will be praying for

you

May your heart be opened

to justice

May your heart be opened

to compassion

May your heart be opened

to peace

May you be the guardian

of our children

The Heartland

The rivers of sorrow always

find a resting place –

in a village,

in a home,

in the eyes

of an abandoned child.

Kill Me

O mother, father, God, holy man

I plead with you

kill me before you

abandon me in the streets

kill me before you

push me in the ring of vultures

kill me before you

sell me to the pimps,

the pedophiles, the thieves

I plead with you

kill me before they kill my soul.

Imagination

You are all I have.

Through you I become

wind without a memory

and wrap myself around

each slender swaying

branch and leaf of the willow tree

make my way through the oceans,

the desert, the curvature of hills

and mountaintops.

Through you I become

the honeybee reaching

for the nectar of the honeysuckle

or the honeysuckle waiting

for the humming visits

of the honeybee.

Like a whistle that sets out

invisible, through you I become

anything I desire.

How can I not be free

If I still have you?

No one can take you from me.

You are all I have.

You are what takes me

out of this penitentiary.

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