Farming Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Farming

Wonder if you too, know,
What I know and I must,
(I speak tongue of dust!)

To me those particles
Are parents of parents,
Earlies ancestors!

Yes, vary the cultures,
Mine demands loving them!

Being child of deserts,
And mountains,
Man-made caves,
My tongue is old, ancient,
As are oil, sands, plains.

Plastics in your car,
And kitchen, or in box,
Comes depths of hearts,
Of my dead ancestors.

They vanished and gardens,
That they had, turned desert,
At feet of bare mountains.

I speak with the wind,
Also, with the breeze,
Till become angry,
Like current, stream.

I talk with hurricane,
Rising cone, dragon,
Powerful with flames
That lifts the residents,
As if are mouse, snake,
Or tiny light papers,
Or only piece of hay…

I speak that tongue and,
Will return to farmland…