Cricket Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Cricket

It is hot
Very hot for a cold country
And city
Cricket has come out
(Some sort of)
In open, on tree
Sings its song
(To me noise)
(To birds sign to go hunt)

And Robin
Worm lover, and catcher
Sings own song, sounds cry
Like German and Pashto, and Arab
Language with deep roots into man
From throat, even chest, fearsome

And I read Orthodox; what a word!
Spread most by the christens
But deeper with the Jews and Muslims
With beards and headwear and short pants
Strict and inward with demands
“Coercive, only I, only we, do the right!)
These actions remind me of the rules
Newton’s
“Reactions to actions, opposite, same power)
Include the Lenin’s:
“Religions are opium.”

The flood of questions
Like the waves on oceans
No border
Have no end
Sometimes dark of the night
Sometimes sun of the dawn
Or sunset, or moonlight
And silver on cloud
At the end of tunnel, flickers a thin light

Floods make earthquake
And lavas, volcanoes and I sigh.