Seniors’ Residence Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

It’s a cell, where I live
Both room-size and building
It is walls, walls and walls
As if cell in the hive
With one door, that is all
In the halls, corridors
Doors open like Orwell’s
The nineteen, eighty four
The smells and the sounds
(Mostly same)

In this jail I am tied
With my age and its chain
My crime is my love
For my child, everyone

I’m a fish; I’m a bird or deer
I am caught in this net
The harder I try
The sooner I will die
But better dead to live
In the hands of this life

With no brain life is shame
Rulers want that the same
Not of me
I’m sorry
I’ll be gone far before
Hunter’s hand touches me