Belated Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Belated

Days have passed of B. Day
I find time to stop
And observe.

Metal horse on gallop
I brake.

Pull to right, in my thoughts
Make U-turn.

Though blocked
I know of horizon
Is endless but ruled by
Fog, clouds and much haze.

Dust blinds;
Desert lost
Hidden sea
Sleep waves.

Make a turn
Look to see
There and then
Village boys
With short hair
Thirty are students
Each three squeezed in one bench.

Soon convert to compote
Fire comes from board:
"Teacher said, teacher told…"

I was one
Now a jar, container
Empty of most hopes:
"I never will be filled! "

Is it need or greed?
Or hope to have to give?