Mourning Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Mourning

I put on ironed pants
-and the shirt, striped
-and I seemed perfectly
-journalist, with my vest
-and drove to mourning
-of great young friend
-he was ex-partner…
-other one was bastard
-a corrupt, I left them
-came and went the shameless,

The guests were too many
-and mostly the new immigrants
-without time for a to talk, to relate
-of common interest up to date…
-the mourning was mixture
-neither east's nor western
-an ugly-duckling in my mind
-among ducks but swan

No cover, Islamic
-no verse of koranic
-could not be Christian
-nor Jewish…Indian
-a dish with flavours
-a nameless and homeless…

Yet it was good, great…
-much was there to be learned
-ignored him when asked me to…
-thanks to our devilish partner
-he made me doubt them both…

I was sad, possibly sadder than
-those who talked and cried
-kept thinking of Ali, his son of twenty…
-already forgotten by many…

I think he, needs the most attention
-a true orphan who, lost mom, dad
-now alone, grannies in Iran; future?