In Wheelchair - Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
shining sun and blue the sky
flying airplanes, formation
and sitting in wheelchair
veteran without legs.
Call him ex-officer.
In his mind a picture
his hand up to the rim of his cap
he answers a salute
and walks on checks soldiers
with smiles and frowns
as he must.
Here I, in my room
writing a script of Ian and Anton
and El Che
hear the radio:
“Refugees will arrive, Syrians…”
and I am an expert
but bounded in wheelchair of my kind…
it is pain…
it is shame…
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