He And His Fasting Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

He and his fasting

Lunar Month Ramadhan
Can come in summertime.

I recall one summer,
It was hot, hot as hell.

My father was Muslim,
And true believer.

To him, fast was real:
"Do not eat, instead,
Save it and give away,
To the poor, be a help."

Copycat, I fasted!

Smart was my mother,
She tricked me and said:
"Break it, I will sew,
The two parts with needle! "

Mom was home, not father,
She gave me an address:
"Your father must be there."

Many farms on my way,
In them wheat was golden,
And ready for harvest.

Went and went a long way,
Finally, found father,
Was alone with sickle,
Red kerchief on his face,
Squat, he gathered,
Straws and cut them!

Was kind and devoted,
To home and to others,
By being good Muslim,
Unlike most of mullahs,
Abusers and lairs!