Moss Hair Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Moss hair

Lost in the barber's chair
I let him use scissors,
Politely raised question
About moss, its colour…

He knows me as joker,
Thinks this is another,
So, glows with laughter.

But being serious, explain:
"Saw woman on the road,
Her hair had been coloured.
She, to me, was like moss,
With same shades of colours
Coming out of the waves
That rush in and return…"

Confused was he and
Found nothing of avail.

Went and came with a book,
It was rich with samples.

Then he talked of a wheel
With ranges of colours,
Which they use for mixture.

Used finger, pointed,
I sighed; eyes saw the waves…

In me was a lost child
With anvil as brain,
His words acted as nail!

A poet, filmmaker
Saw frames of woman
With her hair in colour.

Pictured the summer-end
With shrinking currents
Letting moss to surface...