Devil Poets Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Devil poets

In gardens I had date; she would be, ever-best
Hazel eyes and hair dark, eyebrows hunters’ arch
Depth of eyes pitch of nigh, inside them ocean-like
And her mole firearm.

My heart beat as flame, to walk more, I was lame
To raise voice, felt ashamed, I had to be on guard, a soldier
Keep awake; for movements, keep waiting, be aware.

Something there, something there, something there
Repeated, my heart said;
Something there, something there, something there

Was it her?
My lovely nightingale? My opium and flare?
My love and future? My heaven and my hell?
My mother, life giver? My killer, murderer?

Every cell turned ear, heard the voice: “You devil…”

Wanted ask: “who is there? ” did not dare.

The voice was repeated
Not so hard, not thunder
Like in pain; far calmer:
“You devils…you poets…”

“Who can be? ” I questioned, almost dead.

Whoever, he or she, must know me.
And was right:
“You devils…take truth…and change it.”
It was choir of nature
Day with night, beauty, flower
And lightness with darkness
And far more…they sang choir:

“Poets are the devils…
Devils take and divert; and convert
Good to bad, bad to nice, as they want.”