Radio Poem Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Radio Poem
You little box, held to me escaping
So that your valves should not break
Carried from house to house to ship from sail to train,
So that my enemies might go on talking to me,
Near my bed, to my pain
The last thing at night, the first thing in the morning,
Of their victories and of my cares,
Promise me not to go silent all of a sudden.
Bertolt Brecht
Submitted: Friday, January 03,2003

Oh mum
When she dragged me to
Follow her, go like a lamb
I cried, fell on the ground
“Tell me, tell me; show me
The dog, the dog, the dogs
The talking dog in the box
The dogs that speak to me
My language, our language
How can they
How can they
Speaking from box
Speak our language, ”
Later I realized
It was the radio