Hear Me Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Hear me

I, the child of farmers
Befriended apples.

Saw trees in seasons
Undress and dress.

Springs were great
With buds and flowers.

In summer, their babies
Grew and changed colour.

Some fell and died green
Some lost life soon after.

Some faces like angels'
Were heavenly in shape.

But almost all, each one
Refreshed me, satisfied.

Were so good that doctor
Suggested: "One per day."

Yet in times, I, as kid
Might approach a tree,
Avoiding, possibly
To climb for picking…

In such time plenty
Were fallen, I could see.

I would bend,
Pick one up…

Good looking, colourful,
Yes, they were, but rotten
One, few worms in them.

My teachers, such apples
Told me of governments:

"Well dressed, appear
To join and assemble
And talk of future…"

But in fact, most, or all
Are rotten and corrupt.

With either wealth or whip,
Shamelessly, they speak
And clap their colleagues.

Some become statues,
Some name on streets,
All fill books, history.

Time passes, go days, years
Along come the changes…

Victims of mass-graves
Turn fire like ember
When removed are ashes,
They talk of oppression
And acts of oppressors!

Statues fall and roll
As if balls on the road
Till end up in trash
That even dogs avoid
To go pee or poo-poo.

So, listen presidents
And emirs and maliks
And kings and emperors,
Yes, you too, ministers…

You who are partners
As a wife or husband
Or parent as father,
Possibly, a mother,
Learn from this lesson,
Sit and look in mirror,
Are you fair? Think again.