Stubbornness Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Stubbornness

With the window to my right half open
I sit
Almost hanging from the metal chair
Covered with upholstery, as if leather.

Racks of books in refuge, from wise people
Over my PC; I claim them as mine. Wrong,
They belong to aware.

And I read John Keats’s poem: O Solitude!

O Solitude! If I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep, —
Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep

Pain runs through each part of my body
It talks to me, reporting the result of days
Shovelling bags of gravel, cement concrete

It concludes: “Crazy! ”

I reject: “Stubbornness! ”

Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.