My Fingers Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

“My fingers, ”
She whispered.
Voice lingered.
Eyes at keys
(Black, white)
(Short and long)

“We are barred,
Were kicked off…
Of stage…”

Tears rolled.
On her cheeks,
Two streams,
Wet got chin
Its pimple water filled.

Then went on:

“We can talk
We can sing
Our voice as music
Is good if …
Only if, is for them…
They read and translate.

We can’t talk in our way,
As we want
(Our mind’s faith)

Censorship for money.
For the ones in power
For whore’s sake and bastard’s
For wealth sake.

What a shame!
Steadfast, we remain.”