Page 6 - AnnualReport2018

Exile
or The Magic Suitcase
I took a suitcase with me
- light, so very light:
two or three sets of baby clothes,
a white georgette-silk gown,
a blurred photograph of my mother, wearing an old-style headdress, and a complete set of things
for the Persian New Year celebrations. Let me remind you:
these were what I had -
or rather, what people thought I had - in the suitcase
with which I left the Land
of the Generous Sun.
My suitcase was -
or rather, people thought it was - very, very light.
But how wrong they were!
You must have seen the magic shows where conjurors
draw from their sleeves
all sorts of things:
birds, rabbits, silk scarves of all colours, even a crystal pitcher, sometimes a lump of stone...
fire, water, earth,
flowers, thorns and many other things... Thus was my magic - empty - suitcase.
Now it seems almost a lifetime since from inside that same suitcase
I have been taking out the things I want: wonderful cool springs of Isfahan and its exhilarating groves,
the richly-coloured autumn in Shiraz and the fragrance of its orange trees, the ancient ruins of Persepolis,
the Palace of Princess Shirin,
the poor village of Cham
where they weave carpets
until they’re blind;
the tattered dress of Fatima,
a little local girl,
and a bunch of other children like her,
all in the same suitcase.
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