Patiece Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Patience

Of whom can I complain when I sit and the days gone-by make a chain of mirrors?
I am there; not one, two but many, in-numerous, all copies of me and look the same.
How can I spell names, up-down, in planes, palaces and officer clubs to the prison?
Why do I expect the blinds to see, deaf to hear, the invalids go and the mute to say?
There is one solution if not death to be thrown in the sea and dead, buried near tree,

Silent with patience