Old Man Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Old Man



Old man


To me he,
the old man,
is real;
I am his duplicate!

His moustache and forehead
everything, minor, main
is mirror, to my wave.

"Why…? "How…? "They…"
Both of us complain!

"Sir but you…"
I start; don't dare say: "…you are wrong! "
the tinder inside dies
is wet with the old man's behaviour.

On surface
is married and has wife
lives in his daughter's house.

But in fact lives in jar
no one knows his cries:
"Come, kill me…anyone? "

I can be thankful for
loneliness with no fight!

But the thoughts
are current; melting ice turn flood.

This old man in his full
is me but virtual.

Times and times I wanted
to go and seek pardon;
sing "Hello" of Adele…

But never…
acted as does old man.

Wednesday, December 21, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: character
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