It Burns Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

It burns

It is hard to listen
To the words, or hear
The people, unaware
Comment or complain
Against the good friends!

I feel that everyday
Since I am Indigenous
Born in the Middle East,
Close to the Plains, Prairies.

What to tell the ears
When every night and day
They absorb words, trace
The baseless and nonsense?

It burns me when claim
Couch-potatoes, lousy
Whose knowledge is TV
And Google, Wikileaks:

"Look at the Indians…"
"At backward Africans…"
"At third world and Muslims…"
"At Browns, Chocolates…"

Yes, it burns!
Yes, it burns!
Yes, it burns!

But the worst is flame
That rises of ashes
Sitting on the amber…

The flame,
And ashes,
And amber,

Each,
Alone, together
Being those insulted!