Slaves Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Slaves

And yes, yes
Yes, yes, yes
It angers
Angers me to my veins…

"My day, " as poet says:
"Clouded and birds hunched."

Snow sits on the ground
And in the ruined nests
Of the chicks of whom now
Remains none, no trace…

And I walk and drive
At a time when rain comes frozen
Right from the sky to hit roofs
As if a tennis ball by rackets!

And I feel in plane
Calgary and southbound,
Next to me sits a man:
"I am Mike."

We speak all along
Right from the start.

The subjects were many
Among them nonsense-laws.

"What you think of slaves? "
He asks me: "I wonder! "

And then he, who talks well
Tells me and explains:
"They exist, are cheaper…"

"Then, were fed, got shelter,
Now they are gladiators
That may kill and murder
In race to serve masters;
Making sure job is done! "

See a girl, Indian
As enter in a shop.

Her face washed with tears
And the phones keep ringing
And orders keep coming:
"It is late and delayed;
It angers management…"

She runs back and forward
And answers all the calls…

Master is at home and
In his bed, breaks fast
Or, maybe, hangover…

She works as do her kind
Business is run, done
And pours in profit…

What is left to slaves?
Except for shout, anger?

Yes, yes, yes to Michael
Anger fills all my veins
When I see the slaves
Working hard in the life
For serving mean masters!

The masters are bastards
Give no food, no shelter
And fill the media:
"We vote for freedom…! "

Yes, neighbour in the air
Yes friend, Mike, Michael
Most of us are slaves
Equal? Men-women?
Joke is on the gladiators
Racing to kill, murder
For a piece of bread;
Possibly, with torn bed.