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.