Poor Parents Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Poor parents

Fighting planes and Jordan
This myth goes up and down
It moves me round like ball.
Take me to memories; bitter-sweet stories.

Jordan is tumor and her kings the cancer
Go back to the Balfour; Britain
Then to the genocide in Black September
It's simple, they are dogs and obey the orders.

These slaves are always
Fully exposed to masters
To London, Washington
Agenda is simple; "Fetch a ball for master."

For the war in Yemen I moved them to Midway
For that war everyone was Muslim
Once again they're in war; this time is with ISIS.
Just to serve their masters; pilot's gone and plane.

Poor his wife; his parents