Nassy Fesharaki

Gold Star - 69,276 Points (Dec 29 / Toronto)

Bloodletting - Poem by Nassy Fesharaki


My older brother
My boss and my teacher
Can be called an urn or treasure
Of him I, have many memories, a mixture
Not always good…or…bad
Sometimes none; just good to, remember.

Jazeb is one of them when he came and shouted
Mohammad, the so called dark-skinned driver, his daughter
And early morning with Qalyaee, vinegar…
And taking the ice-axe hitting man in Yakhchal…
The list is very long
One of them: Hejamat…

Went to bathe and came back
He was pale, no blood
I was child.

I learned it later on
Of Dallak taking blade and cotton, Estekan
Sucking blood.

Their system I respect
Also their Mosht-o-mal

They do it well-aware
Vacuum is a tool and use past experience.

Alcohol-soaked-cotton goes aflame
Soon is set on skin, on the cut
With no air, oxygen, flame dies
The burned air turns to a Black-Hole
Vacuum sucks blood
Hygienic, safe and sound
And marrow gets busy in making new blood…

They used leech in old time
Bloodletting is alive
Still in, India.

Topic(s) of this poem: tradition

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, November 8, 2015

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