Nassy Fesharaki Poems

The last cry

My poem is, as always
an observation, inspiration
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Damn Radios

I wish that radio was never invented
a damn box that mother said it was:
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Lone girl at night

Late at night, past the mid
no buses; very light traffic
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My Ex love

I have you on velvet in frame
attractive, young and same
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David Bowie

He too was sixty nine
and he died
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Treasure of truth

By now I, have no doubt
your target is my guts
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Queen of Ireland

Maeve is queen of Ireland
but unlike ancestors
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Like Metro in Paris

As I did in metro
in Paris, years ago
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Biking in the cold

Overcoat light and thick
fur covers around neck
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Toilet

You are bud
filled with life
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