Sara - Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
Not that I like but
I am drunk, too drunk
Eyes, work on their own independent.
Ears in a mutiny, busy with their work.
And brain, if from it any part left alive,
Is not here, no, flies around and in love.
You are not Juliet
And I am not Romeo, flunk
Shakespeare, if you have ever read
A devil writer; mainly saw the, bed
To be corner stone of people, head
As are our shows and movies today
I read the Bible
Travel, Abram, Sara and Lot
A name stuck in my head for good
Years of childlessness, the Nimrod
And rebel child of the Jews, young
Jesus of Nazareth, to pope, divides
You are not that
You, the escapee, or warrior
Sixth daughter to a son loving dad
Did what Mary Shelly did very sad
Abandoning home so making mad
The parents, society, culture’s pad
You and I are both
Crazy-minded ones in world
Testing the water, breaking ice
Walking rough road, paddy-rice
Disguised as others being mice
Digging ground, wall, even dice
In N. Brunswick
You were born, died in Tex
Times you were man, woman
Were your causes as human?
Or a runaway seeking roman
Fighters as friends, real-man
Tell me a story. Well done!
But history is so diversified that
I am lost in hell of a fiction’s mat
A hero to war lovers, nurses and
The writers, opportunist, impact
Vary so much; I
Cannot see and recognize
Did you ever felt Canadian, at all?
Did you just fight to mesmerize?
Blabbering men, hey: “Recognize
I am fight-able woman; equalize”
Sara, tell me please
The truth from among the many bluffing lies...
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