Lost In Her Small Face Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Lost in her small face
(Covered by a flowery scarf)
Her eyes are even smaller
Like a tiny piece of cloud
(Grey and cold, Dark)
Wet and ready they are
With tears
Each drop acts as a knife
Straight into my heart

Of solitary cell I talk
In Evin
“It must be 1.60 by 1.90
Inside a small sink and toilet
With a window diagonal...”

As if at a podium I go on and on
And Amir hits me using his knee
(From under the table)
And I pretend not to notice
The fire in me flames; I recall
The place where in it I was
(He is in now)

And she, the sister, comments:
“I know, I swear I do
No leader, no prophet
Is truly introduced
Neither by enemy nor disciples, ”

And she is trying to calm the mother
(The woman that I made cry)
She is talking of the man in cell
And I am like a wave
Wanting to rest at a shore
(But from the same shore I run away)

And like a humming bird or a gadfly.
Near, almost nested, I fly, no landing
And the eyes, eight with Amir’s, talk
The Mother’s:
“My son, a noble as everyone says
No rights at all, Is in a single cell
How can I fly around as does bird? ”

The Sister’s:
“He is a candle over the waves
The Dark Nights’ ocean waves,
Abused by friend more and foe.”

The Teacher’s:
“I raised him; he raised my children
I taught him and his student became
For me too, honestly, he is a ladder.”

And I
And my eyes
Are lost to me
Behind my ears
Absorbing my voice

I like to ask:
Does anyone make sense?
Do I make any sense?
Do I belong here?
Who are they?
Who is behind the bars?

I know them a little
(Physically)
But feel bounded by the
Unseen
The unseen that I know
More through introduction
(A prophet in shopping bag)

She
The sister
Thinks I know him the best
“He is not for sale”