Nassy Fesharaki Poems

Dave and I, on Boz-Rah, in Panjshir
Went to mine
Treasure, emerald
And miner was in rag, ate Talkhan
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Lima, the rainless city, is the ocean’s neighbor and can be called shady-city.

This city of lame dogs is city with no sun and no light but hazy almost dark.
...

On his head, fell a drop;
Single one,
His head shaved it rolled down
Ran to eye
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Charles Aznavour

An old fashioned microphone in front of him, he sings, he sings La Bohème; his voice is breeze, I feel chill of Bohemianism. There are like-minded people, the Roma-people, the lower-castes of the gypsy. In colorful-fluffy outfits they are weightless and dance. They are the Magi, a word of the past, the Mogh, the Zoroastrian priest. The wind does its work, blows, it howls, it is a wolf, a pack of wolves that attacks with greed, with arms, with ideologies.
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Pilgrims

We
The kids sat in row like the chairs
...

Life is a cylinder

Have you looked in the eye?
(Pupil, its tunnel)
Deep and long cylinder
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USA, I hate you because of Washington
But love you
Thanks to friends, (and people)
Example goes like this:
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In this world of silence with dead brains
Eyes see false; ears hear the surface
Depth remains...just the depth
Unseen, a virgin and hidden
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I was there
Sat by the grave
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You, the mute-deaf-blind
Your words sneeze, vomit, diarrhea and farts
...