On The Bus Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

On the bus

Started with train
Wonderful were the games
In front, to observe.

With suitcase, carry on
Got on board, looked around.

Found me seat and sat down
Let eyes, mind, to go wild.

Young lady to my right
Was busy with make up
All the way, till got out.

A young man gave place
To the old who held cane.

I watched the shoes and legs
That were too different
In size and form and shapes.

Some of eyes were closed
Beneath them breathed nose.

Such a tour for me is
Very rare, pleasing.

It repeats when I go
To visit Battleford
Searching for my hero
Meanly hanged, brutal…

Will raise him from what
Is made by the mean lies.

Wandering Spirit
Was defence minister
Not simple murderer.

He deserves our respect
When we know Indigenous.