Balcony Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Balcony, wet of rain I stand …after ice and snow.
Light is dim, evening turning night.
Wide my range and I look at below and the far.
I think deep, very deep into time of decades, seventies.

On Lajes, an island, Azores of Atlantic; Portugal
Came and massed the crews and planes, carrying the cargoes
Armaments of all kinds, tanks, bullets and much more
Officials too busy and tightened short of food, no lunchbox,

And crews kept coming and request:
“Feed these men for God’s sake, aren’t you nationalists? ”
And tear down her cheeks she cried:
“They’re shameless! ”

Her blood Palestine
She married in Lebanon as national
Newest of passports issued in Washington
(Her husband was major of U.S.)

“They tell me to betray
My father and mother, my sister, brother
And kill them with my hands; what a shame!
I am not one of them, the bastards with no faith.”

As always in those wars
Sharon was a puppet (USA’s) they named him the savor.
Some call him a butcher. I agree.
Killing kids in the camps is crime, like Hitler’s in Auschwitz.

Sharon’s death in his bed makes question.
Respecting by gunshots, condolence and praise?
Doing so is a shame and crime.
Let’s forget he was there. Leave the past.