Painting Brush Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Painting brush

There are times that I
set an easel in my mind and
and a tightly pulled virgin canvas,
is stapled to its wooden frame that is
almost invisible…

Paints in drums, in pots, poured on the ground and
all over with ranges of colours and shades on the palette…

And brushes…varied in size, form and even handles…

I cannot draw, paint and give form to the world inside my mind
with many stars being born and destroyed every minute
as are hundreds of fishes and leaves and mammals

I use the brush and paint me…
mad, crazy, insane and hallucinated
and…neurotic patient

And I laugh joyously
disconnected from this ‘F’ world…