Skin And Skin Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Skin and skin

Listen to talking peach:
"True life-story,
Told to loo like movie! "

In morning of mountains,
Wear his shoes, a farmer,
Gets ready, picks shovel,
Says goodbye, goes away.

His wife and children
Keep busy in task, share,
Gathering their harvest.

The Sun sits on throne,
Always in the summer,
For ruling skies, Earth.

Aphrodite, brunet,
Floats her golden hair,
All around, straight.

Like blonds of Europe
The sunrays make fire,
Leave behind the ashes!

Even the local rocks
Proudly serve Royals.

They reflect hellish heat,
Representing the king:
Follow laws, and decrees!

Burn, become brownish,
All farmers' families.

Playing hide and seek,
Fruits keep smiling,
On branch, each tree.

Pleasure, therefore, is,
The game of plucking.

Family, unites, teams,
To steal trees' kids.

In the cold of winter,
Differ their behavior,
Parents and children
Sit around, in middle,
Single lamp is actor,
And the walls, theatre.

The shadows dance, wrestle,
The clown is hero for laughter.

The poor and old curtain,
Turns to best choreographer.
Farmer sits in centre,
Exposes heels' fissure,
Of feet's' soles, clustered

Wife brings the goat-fat,
He uses pocketknife,
Cuts a piece, raises high.

With flames of oil lamp
White grease melts, drops,
Filling those cracks, down!

They are deep and hurting,
But farmers live with mean!

Nobody complains,
Of farmers' life order,
Nobody talks, nor care!

Funny is life in town,
See tattoo on back, arms,
To breasts, necks, or thighs!

Crack lips, show my teeth:
"Juxtapose these sissies,
With the farmers' hardship,
Painted or engraved, is skin? "