Right Knife Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Right knife

How I wish, had been knife
In his hand, when cut lung!

Since I know location
I would not make mistake;
My heading would be the
Place of love and hate.

Heart is where decisions
Are entered in blood
Filtered, pumped.

My hero, the war chief
(Wandering Spirit)
Had vision and concerns
For clan, all peoples.

He could not sit idle
Spoke soft, pleaded:
"Things have gone out of way
With you and your manners! "

Deaf, blind was justice
Of new settlers…

Therefore he, stood firm
For a coup; when it failed:
"Those who want to see me
For last time as am seem,
Come here and observe…"

Unsheathed his big knife and
Raised it high and throbbed
Into lung, beneath heart…

Everywhere was blood…
He collapsed; kissed ground…

Had he had the right knife
It would have gone to heart
Not to let cruel see hero's fall.