Panjshir Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Panjshir

While pouring me coffee,
Am thinking of Panjshir
And recall hands of kids,
Unconscious, I spill…

This is what, I see me:
Crazy! Crazy! Crazy!
And mostly, untidy…

Pain crawls in a chain,
Cuts a wound wide open
Making noose for flesh
Of poet in poem…

Like a good climber
I grab the rappel...

Mirror the kids' fingers,
All cracked, broken,
And blood scattered…

Children, on their own
Carry rocks and stones,
To built like architects
An amphitheatre…

This will be their school,
Young teacher, devoted,
Will go round in circle
To correct their mistakes!

None of them has notebook,
They write on plywood…

In picture, old Afghan
Is nothing but suspect
In eyes of the soldiers
Of the mean invaders!

How can I concentrate?
How can I write poem?