Mother And Son Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Syracuse got news:
'There's a birth on the ship'
Ship's stopped, no engine
Rock's pier
Sea is bed to high waves
It can take moss and weed, and the ship
There she is; in blood
And baby few days; with the cord
(Not yet cut; no scissors; no sharp knife)
The crew has escaped
Did they know what was best?
(Like Moses in basket on the Nile)
Cat's cradle; Syria and the wars
Toys and games; New mother
And threads on sticks; end in West
In Moscow, Washington, in Europe
Had to move 'Safe place.'
Europe shouts 'Go back home.'
(To mountains of fire)
I cry; later laugh; in madhouse
'What is what? '
'What is this? '
'Who is right? '
Is there God?
Which is right Jehovah, Lord's Father, or Allah?
Arab Spring was in line for Bashar
Made ISIS
'It smells; it is bomb'
New game, like Saddam's

Who answers to this child?
Born on ship, abandoned next to rock
First called girl; later boy with his cord
What grows in his soil?
Hate or love?
Is he alone?
What about forty eight children and many
Tens; thousands...Sicily