The WOMEN POETS
Sit on my desk and I
Feel the Zorro's sword
It cuts deep through me
Deep in heart and brain
It cuts 'Why? '
The eight handwritten lines crossed
Are they from a parent to a child?
Is it from a professor to a student?
Or is it from an editor to a reader?
My heart says.
'It is track of a broken love,
It is from a lover to a dumper.'
I read many unwritten stories.
I recall 'Read between the lines.'
In me stories march
As Xerxes marched the waters
As Alexander and Napoleon marched the lands.
As NSA march the privacies
And the Israelis who know the taste of homelessness
March into the shanties of the oppressed Palestinians
And inside, deeper in
Fearful in a cave, I struggle
I see the ignored ones
I see the forgotten
I see lips, poetesses, whispering
Words of love, words of pain and wisdom
I see the faces fade and words fade
They go hide in darkness, between lines
I see me and my words getting lost
We're gas and evaporate
We're faded as poets unmentioned.
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Comments about this poem (Poetess by Nassy Fesharaki )
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