Pulse Of The City Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Pulse of the city

You sit home in chamber
Socialize with your pet, if ever
If free of computer, sending text
Also of the taxi, virtual food order,
You sit firm for judgement

Listen you…go to hell!

City's pulse means people
Not with you but elsewhere
See the carts and wheelchairs
There, on bikes, with deliverers
They work in honesty on the wheels.

Listen you…go to hell!

City's pulse is outside and away from you
In garage and kitchen, in the farm, reservoir
Look from your high-rise to crane, see it there
Open eyes, see the walls and windows, cleaners
Do not you complain: "Jack hammers in mid-day? "

Listen you…go to hell!

You have key to cities; I know it
You stole, made it yours; you know it
Or it comes from thief-ancestors
They stole, embezzled
Held their guns to faces of owners
Killed the kind and peaceful loving ones

Therefore you…go to hell
Don't comment, do not judge…
They make the pulse of town.

Listen you…go to hell!