Ism Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

ISM

Too small for the pit
An orphan, I stand on the side.
The people, instruments, director.
Soloist shakes hand, bows, after boss.

Audience cough and move, to settle.
Some whisper, some comment.

In the boats are Muslims of Burma, Myanmar.
Ships capsize in waters of Europe-Africa.
Bombs, drones and the Seals
Fall, attack and mass kill.
Supported Saudis,
Freely; Bomb
Yemen.

And here in Quebec a recent election
It is bomb on the land of the pasts
The wrongly named after India
Story recalls some memory
‘Two claim ownership
Fight and shout:
“It is mine.”’

The fight is on donkey.
The third one goes
Away, has the
Beast.

I sit back, with sorrow and deep sigh; lift a cup
My eyes are like two nails hard hammered
On the wall; it is blank and peeling.
Take a sip of coffee from it.
Better be out of this
Fight of ISM.