Nassy Fesharaki

Gold Star - 69,444 Points (Dec 29 / Toronto)

His Hand - Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

His hand

Pass through and across
after call to set time
as arrived must show card
they know us by photos
by numbers…as is a prisoner
as is the animal with its mark
burned or cut…

The old days are long gone
no knowing by tribe
nothing left, not at all.

I sit and look at him,
he is old; my doctor,
his soft hand in writing
is moving and shaking.

When he ends I wonder…

In this age he works and
many youths are searching,
patients have no medic;
for new in this field
only hell is waiting.

And I see
And I think:
“What are we? ”

Topic(s) of this poem: ideals


Comments about His Hand by Nassy Fesharaki

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags


Poem Submitted: Monday, December 7, 2015



[Report Error]