2: 55 Am Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

2: 55 AM

She has killed her husband,
Using a knife in the kitchen,
Cut the part of his throat,
Shelter for the main veins.

She is one more victim,
Not a killer, a murderer!

Following my research,
Saddled firm, prepared,
Chose a path, direction,
Hit the road, went away,

"Closed, " was what I faced,
So, drove looked to search,
Encountered an angel,
She relaxed on some bench.

Siblings-like we spoke,
Broken her heart, bones,
Patient, kind, she crouched.

Did not mention Koran,
Abraham, nor Torah,
No word on the Troika!

She follows their Tayee,
The Great Sagalie Tayee,
Yahuwah? Or Holy Spirit?

I told her of my needs,
About the Chief, Pauline,
Of neither knew a thing,
Moon, tiger on the cliffs!

Instead, she told me,
Of her work, her writing,
Among them a poem…

"Sang to me the spirits,
Right before a court meeting,
Felt in pain, was scared of the jail."

Katie has written this,
Must call it acrostic,
Soft, Frail, and Sweet!

Self-esteem is first to dream,
Underestimate it is such a drain,
Readily aware of the chance to come,
Victims we are no longer one,
If we choose, we must follow through,
Ventures we roam to places unknown,
Opening we are for all to see,
Rights we seek more knowledge we need,
Surprisingly yes, is truly me.