Gala Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Gala

For years I meant to write
Script, to survive
Relations between us.

If able, meant to make
One of the best movies
Sad, maybe, romantic.

Full of love, devotion
That make us, human.

All,
Only,
If I could.

There would be funeral
Flowers on the cars
Flashing to give signs
About the graveyard…

Dug would be a place
Mound of dirt piled, fresh.

Somebody, in distance
Walks alone, elegant
Wearing long black veil.

She turns to the people
While walking straight;
Somebody sees her and
Puts in mouth his finger.

Finally, after long
He takes a piece of pie
Politely invites her.

"Who is dead? " she questions
He knows she pretends.

After years he writes of
The woman's relations.