Moulded Cake Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Moulded Cake

Like many of friends,
Breakfast on plate
I sit on a cheap chair;
My piece of cake is Mike's
Older than one-two months
And has mould on one side.

Me and waste?
No, never…

Rather die than ignore
The labour of farmers
That is base to make it.

Soya milk, vanilla
Is Ali's, Lebanon's;
He left it to depart.

Coffee is what I bought
(Picked, crushed, boiled, dried
To become a powder for instant.)

Lot to read and must write
What came to small mind
When seeing the people
Walking or riding bikes.

On their shoes and jackets
They carried varied lights
Small, large, dim, bright
In a range of colours;
Silver and blue, red.

Seeing them took me to
My trips around world.

In the past the light was
From wick or cotton
Alight in middle of
Fat of the animals,
Or the bush, or trees.

I recall the shadows
Taking forms on the walls
Or ground; when we walked.

They were toys; in times and
Made monsters in our thoughts.

With the hands and fingers
We made lamb, wolf and fox.

Ahmad, my brother,
One great narrator;
Made up the stories
Of a boy following
Juliet of his heart…

Now they are dead and gone;
Believing is too hard
That such things existed…

Hey, someone, somebody
Will you come and please
Take me out of cities
To village or desert,
To the sea or a cave
And hide me behind the
Tallest of tall mountains?

Do not want Internet
Nor movies, nor the games;
Digital, brainwash, falsified.

I rather being some
Superstitious, and dogma
That lives and dies away
From where is claimed:
To be the "Civilised."

Write my "Will" willingly:
"Give my share to White House
That is filled with dummies;
These bullies love killing! "