Cirrus Cries Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Cirrus cries

There is no rest in the West
They wrestle on mattress
Up and down with experts
One attacks to grab other’s knees
Another has two hands on a neck
To escape losing game, the fallen
Becomes cat or snake and crawls
Each of them has medals of pride
No legend is ready to give up.

The sun is referee in colours
Fetish She, wears the shawls
Like prism from gold to blood
When tired of a match, the sun
Bends and becomes half its size
Then one third and one fourth.

The velvet of cirrus mourns, cries
Sun is not referee any-more it is gone,
The sky is red and violet, magic witch
West is dark with no light on mattress
Now sky of sun-gone is stage to stars.