Khwajah Piruz, Poetry by Renkian Barrymore

Genre: Religion

Khwajah Piruz by Renkian Barrymore

Many of you don’t know me.
My name is Khwajah Piruz.
Mazdayasnian Fire Keeper,
The herald delivering Nowruz.

Cleanness rebuffs all evil.
Purge the home, paint the walls, spruce the garden.
‘Khane Tekani’ is essential –
And annual visitations common.

They nourish the growth of your sabzeh,
That slept during cold winter days.
Now lentils, barley and wheat abounding,
Your ancestors’ wishes purveyed.

It’s Khwajah Piruz, only one day a year,
Everyone knows, I know as well.
I bring good news, Nowruz is near,
Siyâhi-e to az man, zardi-e man az to.

Many of you don’t know me,
My name is Khwajah Piruz.
Khwajah is Lord, Piruz victorious,
The herald delivering Nowruz.

I probably came from Mogadishu,
Though this is not the mainstream view.
Marauding Arabs conquered the Persians,
Then changed my name to ‘Hajji Firuz.’

Don’t confuse me with Bilal al Rabah,
The Meccan, the black muzzein.
My origins are rooted in Persia,
The ‘Tepe’ bears testament to my name.

It’s Khwajah Piruz, only one day a year,
Everyone knows, I know as well.
I bring good news, Nowruz is near,
Siyâhi-e to az man, zardi-e man az to.

Blackface is soot from the fire,
Or when I ascend from the dead.
Even a slave from Zanzibar –
But why not Prince Siyavash instead?

Status demeaned I no longer am
Considered ‘Victorious Lord’.
They converted me into a minstrel,
To play ‘saz’ and sing silly songs.

Look at me Lord, it’s been a while.
Do me a favour,
My very own Lord, the billy goat –
Why don’t you smile my Lord?

It’s Khwajah Piruz, only one day a year
Everyone knows, I know as well.
I bring good news, Nowruz is near
Siyâhi-e to az man, zardi-e man az to.

The children adore me, adults laugh,
Shiny coins swell my felted hat –
No more than a raucous spectacle –
How I yearn for the distant past.

A Fire Priest hostile to Daevas –
Zartosht’s appointed muzzein.
Homage bellowed through Asha-filled streets,
Reciting from memory, praying for the Dīn.

Dank areas lit up by the magi flame,
People of all ages came,
Confessing debts, rejecting authority,
The lawless, the wicked, the foulest beings.

Now look at me now Lord, it’s been a while.
Do me a favour,
My very own Lord, the billy goat –
Why don’t’ you smile my Lord?

https://renkian.wordpress.com/

 

 

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Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.
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