Helen Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Helen

Helen is for many
Wife, sister, or mother,
Classmate, girlfriend
But for me, another…

She, to me, is ancient
Story of Troy,
And colleague in the sale.

We picked phone, dialled, called
And sold postage machine.

There, I worked for two years,
Learned a lot more than earned.

The bulk of clients
Owned small business.

Were simple and great,
Talked open, straight…

One grew tomato…

We became good friends
With hearty relation:
"I give you a machine,
It is self stamping…"
And went on with lecture
As was taught and trained.

Guess he felt offended:
"Are you stranger? "

Like artist and picture
Explained in detail:
"We plow and sow seeds
The rest is gangsters'! "

I spoke with Helen
She had been grower,
So, nodded: "Is correct, "

"Labour is the farmers'
And market, gangsters',
They handle buy and sell,
The stocks' growth, death,
Caring less for owners! "
Helen said and stopped
With tears in her eyes.

Then sighed, told story:
"We grew produce,
My husband picked lettuce,
Was gone when gangster,
Wanted me to share bed
And said if rejected
Nobody would purchase! "

She cried like orphan!

Produce was spoiled
Abandoned in the sun,
With it, rot couple's life.

Forced, she worked as seller
For other vampires,
Copy of gangsters,
Wolves in the lambs' jacket!

Found myself and Helen
Sharing ancient secret
Of the poor and labour:
"We are the chained slaves."

I oppose that Helen
Is defined: "Bright one, "
Nor is the "Shining Light! "

Helen is elephant
Forced into small box.

Politics and market
Never work in favour
Of the poor hard worker!