Philip Gray Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Philip Gray
Road to Afghanistan
The Remembrance Day


Many heads in the pews
Side by side, fore, behind
Darkest hair on the heads
Ash silver, most hair-gone
We’re here sharing cause,
He left us.

He best knew Philip Gray
That was him.

He was born after war. But
in next he flew many flights.
Chances were, he would die.
That is what he did not; and
Later he left home to land in
Canada

Too humble, I know him and
Recall meetings in the CASM
Our photos, his writing on the
Page of the book, him signing
All witness.
And I think sitting here silently
To my left sit the Kens.

I look around to ceiling and the
Walls of bricks, the squares, all
Glassed with colors, blue, pink
Power point, showing us Philip
“Who is next? ” I question.

All wearing red puppies I do not
I wear one in my heart, colorless
For all men, our friends, enemies



Piano is great, the hero in a scene
That paved way for woman-priest,
One great change since childhood
Did his soul fly around telling us?

Audience, well-dressed and all old
Saw the faith wildly different some
Sang hymns, some played with the
Shoes, chitchatting Muslims, Jews,
I took notes.

Then came friends, both true-false
You could hear word’s sound clear.

“And he ate! ” someone said.

It was fun to hear, we all laughed.

“He chased hen, search for an egg,
Hunting rabbits for the lunch…”
Priest said and we laughed.

Oh, Philip, I am blue…you Gray!

The legends walk to front so I look
I question: “Who is next? ”

Few kids in the back play and shout,
Woman’s face turn to say: “Shut up! ”

“Keep your faith, not to walk alone, ”
He’d recalled of father.

“We killed him, ” I told some friend
“With CASM closed he lost home, ”

I miss him, and do others
To his soul, God may bless.