Process Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Process



Process

What are life-after life?

I cannot talk of soul except how,
Falls in love, has the gut and drive.

Body is a mushroom of some sort.
It, smells rotten fish; after days
Picked, taken far, from home.

As food it, tastes great
Sure if right processed

When fresh, a painting on the wall
Amusing for research, lab and hall.

Smells shit if left in a fridge; for a week.

I therefore have question: “What are we? ”

Sunday, April 19, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: life
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success