By Weight Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

By weight

Life to me means working
Regardless of age in,
Right from the childhood.

Maybe five, I was when
My mending started
In a shop that sold lamps,
That burned with Kerosene.

People came with teapots
And plates of china.

My master had a way
With eggs' white and fire,
Lime-powder, coiled wire.

We gathered the pieces,
Cleaned and placed them,
Like a child with puzzle,
Then drilled and made holes
Through which went thread
From the copper coil.

Sealing with egg-lime-dough
And sewing piece to piece
(Today done with paste seal,)
He heated on ember.

Later, we tested them
To be sure, no leakage.

Satisfied were owners
When we charged a fair fare.

I have seen ups and downs
With the rich, poor, across
And parents, and the child.

Now, see young indigenous,
Half exposed her breasts
Hung to be scaled, weighed.

Two men of India
Serve a Sir, Britannia's,
On shoulders, hold the bar.

In middle, the scale,
Import of occupier!

Wonder if invaders
Ever look in mirror.

Wondering of details
Of themselves, in real:
"Who are we? Why here? "
"What is wrong of people? "
"Why do we go hunt them
Or, separate, divide them? "

I look at girl's picture,
See a topless angel,
Is readied for the sale.

Then look at streets
On fire, streaks,
Some looting or steal.

Try hard: "Be Luther
Act passive, peace maker, "
But bitter is the pain
Feel the hard chain, shackle,
Like gallows seems scale,
My hands tied by master
To sell me to other…

I search for book of words
To find the worst of worse
For naming such devils,
Ancestors, families,
To the descendant…

Seeing her and her kind
I, too, want to raise hell,
Burn preachers' Bibles!