Scars Of... - Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
Words, comments, are bullets
kill, don't kill, are removed
but the holes will remain.
The same is with actions.
Years ago a child this happened
was before wore galosh.
He, a man, good looking and
to be relative
meant the best for us all.
Our village, a place in mountains
lived on wood and bushes
for heating and cooking, hot water.
He and I went to come with mass of
the bush we gathered.
He was young; I was child
"Ride donkey, I will walk, "
he told me to be kind
and he was…
Beast climbed, on it; so did he.
Legs were numb as if lugs when at top;
he picked me, sat me down on a rock
weak was sun, climbing after dawn.
I took time but never…to this date
I have been as was I before then.
Cold of that spring, bullet hole
has remained…I suffer.
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