Gloria Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Gloria

Hope remains a foetus, many months
crest far underneath the clouds
on the way she walks lost
winding path is in fog
barriers dirty rough
and she goes.

"Must confess, " she tells me
"many walls, very much."

Best in built and is tall
her face, moon-sun
two sea-night
as her eyes
and comments:
"Only job is working on the roads, as escort to pull down."

"How can help? " I question; dead answer
In the time when money is master
and we are all slaves
how can I?

In this world.

She speaks and kills me
talented she is but
buried hopes,
she has
none.

This girl of small town
great in art, in mind
in huge, big cities
has no chance…
but to sell…

what a shame!