Confined Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Confined

Yellowish was the light
-of the lamp hanging high
-neither dawn's, nor of dusk.

In silence stood an observer; man, young
-watching flakes of snow, rushing, fall
-let them dance and land in open eyes.

"Hey"
"Hey"
"Hey"

Felt heard a shouting sound;
-looked above, I was wrong!
-was whisper filled with love:

"Be careful of the salt
-of the heat of the cars
-to a death do not rush."

I moved on
-and moved on
-went back home
-walls, houses
-of adobe, of mud
-in mountains
-farms, plains
-animals of all kinds
-domestic to the wild.

Wicks' flames gave us light
-with fear were blind
-to flakes, their dances
-then we dug the tunnels
-in snow; walked too far.

The barrel-like glass
-amber, dark, smoky
-swallowed half of light
-of burning cotton-wick
-soaked in the kerosene.