Over there, in the Other land, I was

gharb-zadeh, Farsi to the effect of west-

smitten. Over here, in 'Our' land, I am

Muslim immigrant, nomenclature with grave
allusions: unemployment, anger, and

unpredictable police attention. Over there
I was an 'apostate', principal's term for

the boy who failed Koran Studies and wrote
an essay on Leonardo da Vinci. Over here

dainty high school girl rejected this thick
accented adolescent for being too hairy

and a 'Muslim rapist'. Over there, utterly guilty
of doodling Zorro; hence flogged by the irate

principal. Over here shackled to a passport
etched with 'born in Tehran'. There I was

suspected of perfidy to the Faith, an Infidel-
wannabe. Over here I am suspected

of terror, 'Our' values' covert enemy. My likes
aren't to belong to tribes, nations, et al; but

welcome at the cells of the Islamic Republic's
Evin Prison, pliers pinching their finger-

nails; or sleep-deprived and hooded indefinitely
in the dark solitaries of Guantánamo Bay.