Concentration Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Concentration

Woolf-like, eye of brain steals from the eyes of head.

“Heart of Darkness” in hand I read: “I descended…”

A wasp flies between bars of the balcony’s fencing.

Sister says something, is she awake? Or dreaming?

I, listen to the birds, more of whispers than chirps,
And to the cars, sliding on the dry asphalt…

I watch the pale sky, to me it is as if saved from,
Suicide…with an internal wash.
And I read: “Criminal”, which is the word used for
The savage or, the occupied.

In my mind roams around a word: “Terrorist”