Anvil Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Anvil

By exit, in bazaar
Master had small shop.

When smith finished job
Waiting nails on the walls
Received the mater's arts
From large to small…

The smith collected
A good range of anvils
That he used for working.

His hammers outnumbered
His horseshoes, bowls, vases.

On floor a young boy
Kept sitting, squat,
Handling up and down
A part of skin bag.

The flames had colours
Of yellow, red, amber,
Like the dance of Sufi.

I, in love with Rumi
Dislike when go shopping.

Huge are shopping malls
With many shelves, boxes
All filled with bolts and nuts.

I miss the older days
When we sat with masters,
Enjoyed their museums...

Feel sitting at grave
Of the old good friend.

His loss causes shiver
Which kills me in fever,
With headache, dizziness!