Few Puffs Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Few Puffs

He can be in eighties…

Late at night, returning
-safe and sound from sun
-I approached the door to
-look at him and observe
-the old man smoking…

I know him from far
-have seen him for a time
-he shrinks day by day;
-his way out is to die…

Knowing not any tongue
-his jail is Mandarin!
-I greeted: "Ni-Ha"
-did not hear; no reply.

Had no sense to hear
-cigarette was at end
-he threw the remains
-and the butt fell near.

He uses cane or wall
-to get out and slouch.
-Used to walk as alive
-for sake of cigarette…

Now his cane was stud
-to keep door half-open.

Finally, turned around
-and we saw eye to eye.

The polite Chinese man
- (Skin bag and some bones)
-gave a nod…so did I.

His life is summarised
-to his room, and late night
-puffing, then…wait to die!