Mower Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Red t-shirt, blue jeans
He is young but not teen
In his hand he has a rod
With handles and engine
He holds it while walking
At its end on the ground
Blade rotates grass cries
Desperate, and moaning
Tear in eyes are shouting
'You cruel, the murderer'

At its end a red line, plastic
Engine torque, with speed
Keeps killing, blood splash
As if is Zeus and the Arash

Air smells, rich with scents
And elsewhere rivers break
Monsoon time with the rain

Far away in sky birds shiver
'This loud noise scares worm
With worms; there's no life'

With mankind all around
Even nature isn't natural.

Everywhere cars, engines
Everything turned technic