Vine Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Vine

In times I prefer
The red and large grapes
That takes me back, ages.

Then, I was little boy,
Wonder if was spoiled! ?

Like prince, and wealthy,
Cradled and baby,
Knew I was "Great! "

Was no need for logic!

In building their palace
Mother was architect,
She planned it for time
That married all her sons.

"Then will come to visit
And stay, days, with me…"

So, plan had purpose:
"Width must be length of bed."

Daddy was handy man
For the garden's plants
And trees of fruits,
As well as shed stands.

Wall to wall planted
Trees of pomegranates
And a vine among them.

By the time I could walk
To edge of veranda,
I stood, downed my pants,
Aiming at a pomegranate
Would let go of fountain!

She never talked of the
Future of daughters…

My mother was great
Speaker, orator
Amused us, children
With past and future:
"Then you, your brothers
With wives and children…"

She painted coming days
In our minds and framed.

Every word that she said
Was sweet, had affect
Of a sword in the head:
"I will set rows of beds,
In between them curtains,
In middle of the nights
I will be bodyguard,
And check on all my sons…"

Exempting my sisters
Was painful and it hurt,
In my heart felt dagger
Cause me and old sister
Were closest friends…

I loved her and love her
Both then and, forever…

In times I am glad
That none of the plans
Took place as planned
Except for the building
That is there and still…

Her palace, empty,
Is and, will always be
With us and our greed!

Of the times behind me
Have lot of memories,
One of them, vine tree
With grape, reddish, pink.