Crash - Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
News is full of words
One plane has crashed
People died; Lives are lost.
Comments are dirty, worse
‘The guilty’ as is called
Was sick; with X and Y.
We judge fast, and unjust.
To me he, has angles.
His dreams day by day.
He was an ambitious
Hard working, glorious
A victim of nature
He got sick and ruptured.
What happened, no one knows.
We see the few sticks of match box.
Then we judge; it is wrong.
He is Arab, my colleague, the pilot.
He crashed in Shiraz; fully burned.
With cotton and the earth we made him false casket.
Had to fool dependents; Mother, child…who cried.
He is that lieutenant; the ‘Ranger’ in mountains
He was sent to the heights; as soldier.
Qashqaiees had rebelled in Shiraz.
He was caught, arrested and murdered
He was cut to pieces; like Tupac
Then buried in ‘Bagh-e-Takht’; a hero
Forgotten; all are past.
He is me; I resigned and when asked:
“Why do so, you are young? ” I replied:
“I ran fast; reached the end early, fast.”
Much is left to be said; I wish cells could speak.
I don’t rush to judgement… please, you be patient.
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