My Way Or Highway Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

My way or highway

My voice is like myself,
Mostly caught, forced in jail.

For many, many years
Has been so, I am heir.

Now is time to be husk
Buried deep in the ground.

Must break shell and sheaf,
Must stand, firm, steel.

Must raise voice, clench fist
Fight and fight for right deed
Until Sun is in reach.

I am not one of the
Bolivia's southerners
Living like the slaves.

"Go plant on your land,
Be proud, cheer, laugh, "
Told them the government.

"How about food, shelter? "
They questioned…

Were raised like bird in cage,
Knew not freedom,
They had wings and feather
Never taught to use them…

But this husk, meaning me
That always was buried
Will drink sparkle, of the dew,
Drizzle, and fly to skies
As did the "Beanstalk…"

Will tell Bush and his men:
"You, shut up, go to hell,
You killed the innocents! ! ! "

He ordered: "Bomb Afghans, "
To revenge the lives of
September eleven…

He sought help of others
And when some rejected,
Said: "Our way or highway! "

Where are Bush and his likes?
Why not bomb the Trump?
Is he not worst chaos?

Good people, caring ones
Must see world, all around,
Include USA
Where deaths are in thousands…

He, Trump, ordered the
Murder of some leaders
Of Iran, oppositions
And claimed, right or wrong:
"They have caused death for us! "

What about he, himself?

USA is great
In killing the others
And changing governments
In the world, not friends,
But cannot kick ass of
A filthy president
That butchers his nation!

Fearless, I must talk
Against him and other
Stinking rich rulers
That are leech, vampires,
Suck blood of people
But spit sweet words
To fool and mislead us
Toward hate and disgust
And cursing and fistfight.