“I Will Write About Him”
I will write about Robert Sepehr.
And you can’t stop me.
Not you,
not the gatekeepers of thought,
not the ones who shake hands
behind curtains
and whisper what I’m allowed to feel.
He says he’s an Iranian Jew.
Words
that carry continents,
and I wonder—
does he carry them too?
Or did he choose them
like tools?
Like shields?
I watch him thread
my ancestors into his theories,
speaking of bloodlines
like rivers,
but does he remember
the stones in them?
Does he speak of my people
as he speaks of his past?
Or are we only symbols
for stories he already wrote?
Still, I will write about him.
Not because I need him,
but because I see him.
Because he walks the edge
of many names—
like me.
But unlike him,
I am not cloaked in mystery.
I am bare.
And burning.
I will write about Robert Sepehr,
and you cannot do anything about it.
Because truth isn’t owned.
Because memory fights back.
Because history is watching
through my hands
as I write.