He And His Tar Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

He and his Tar

In his hand, holds his Tar,
(Instrument, like guitar.)

Is he a magician?
Indian with snake?

I stand in silence,
As if am in a church,
Devoted, full of love,
See Heaven in altar.

I pray and praise,
The halo, crescent,
With a wreath over head,
He is Sun, also god,
He is one who gives life,
To himself and his love,
For them I, sacrifice.

In throbs and heartbeats,
In whispers, hear him:
"My Tar is real love! "

His actions, behaviour
Lift me, soar to skies,
Surpass faith, and fly.

Leave behind name and fame,
With imposed standards,
Can welcome life with shame.

In me lives the hero
Over the Cuckoo's Nest!

Young I feel, once again,
And drive to Big Sur,
There, Hippies are free,
From bounds, boundaries
Like youths in Woodstock:
"In life share what have got,
From cold to warm, hot! "