Boots Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Boots

See pilot of Jordan?
See his lips in blood?
Did you hear last news?
See the hand round his neck?
"We are firm; in place, " said Jordan.
What is more and what else but comments?

I see it different; I claim ‘I'm poet'.
Look at boots, their color
Boots taken; he's barefoot
See sun, sands and the waves
Look at sands in shoe threads
He came down in desert
Some photos show water

Look at men; all rebels
It's our time as has been round the clock and always
When the young gets tired; breaks chains.

Remember ‘Modernists'?
With our heads pushed in dune
Something's wrong; we're asleep.


Stand firm; raise question:
Who are these?
Look to sides, USA and allies, and ISIS.
Then re-look; see pilot and the sand in his boots.

Once again ask question:
"Plane's downed; boots taken, flight suit is removed.
Who sells them?
Who pays for?
Who's ending with the gain? "
Is it not dirty game?
Youths' being sacrificed like before
(We saw that as if myth; repeat is, history.)