Friend With Tears Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Freezing hands could not cleaned the already icicled teardrops, he shook in his rags and went on,
Crying

Hungry for some time, words were lost in his lung, need of food and shelter were in fight so pride,
Crying

In secret he: “People…” but the lips chained the tongue; his head down a hand hung on each side,
Crying

Bread-man read his mind; passed the road, parked his cart then returned and stood, looked at him,
Crying

“That bread is not mine. I am yours, you are mine, labor men; one with job one without I will help,
Crying”

The first man fell and died. Bread man went to cart. Young and old, passersby, had no time to stop,
Crying

Corpse remained on the road. Day finished and came night. Janitors, sweepers called their boss for
A cart

They carried the trash; not even
Crying

So welcome to our time and stop
Crying