Not Eighteen Yet Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
Not Eighteen Yet
Not eighteen yet
My car is a desert
I am bush, roots on pedals.
Wind, breeze, passengers
They come, pass, and blow.
Seventeen and great
Free is, she speaks:
“Annoying…”
She said and we knew.
She cannot get to bar
Neither bed, to have fun
Satisfy desire; she is child…
Can’t relieve haunted lust.
Like her are too many
Either has story
Deep stuck, I tell them:
“Lucky you; to be free.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/6/2024 3:32:20 PM # 1.0.0.1119
