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Nassy Fesharaki

Veteran Poet - 2,918 Points (Dec 29 / Iran)

O. R. I.

O. R. I. was a game we played.
Acronym was short lived.
Maximum was a week.

Our bags filled,
Our checklists
Our helmets, even knives

We readied for the ops.
We were checked and questioned.
We knew the answers.

Now a plane has gone lost.
Now comments, guesses high
Now there is O. R. I.

Hundreds went missing.
Maybe some were kissing.
Maybe some were hissing.

Were few drinking?
How many were reading?
Who knows their thinking?

They say that at least two’
Boarded with wrong passports
Is that all and no more?

“Who? ” it’s known, as they claim,
No one knows what they meant
But seeking asylum

What is that?

That has roots in justice
Persecution, injustice
The greed of rulers

And the tale has long tail
No one knows the detail
But it came with Adam

He had sons
Two; each twin with sister
Don’t believe? Just listen.

Fairytales are cute
Stay calm and mute
When you hear the Bible

Getting back to the plane
Malaysian, disappeared
I wish that we could know

The romance of each one
The terror in those eyes
And the hopes that have died

Who can tell what happened?

Believe me none of them
They can hunt innocents
On the roads or at home

When peaceful and silent
When talking, making love

Submitted: Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Topic of this poem: loss

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