A.G.O. Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

They came, bowed
All in black and slim
Audience was crazy
“Bravo” all applause

Once again
And again

I cursed me “Ignorant”

My question:
“Who were they?
What was that? ”

Once again: (Ignorant)

In my throat was pride
“What was the story? ”
I questioned everyone.

I was not only one; unaware.

I had heard sound of gale
Felt dancers being waves

“Look around in frames
It is West-Side; Canada
The base we danced for.”
Actor said.

I prayed I was right.

What is art but message?
Isn’t it poetry or writing?
It’s painting and dancing.

Who should be observer?
Is that elite? Why not all?