Scars Of... Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Scars of…

Words, comments, are bullets
they enter
kill, don't kill, are removed
but the holes will remain.

The same is with actions.

Years ago a child this happened
was before wore galosh.

He, a man, good looking and
to be relative
meant the best for us all.

Our village, a place in mountains
lived on wood and bushes
for heating and cooking, hot water.

He and I went to come with mass of
the bush we gathered.

He was young; I was child
"Ride donkey, I will walk, "
he told me to be kind
and he was…

Beast climbed, on it; so did he.

Legs were numb as if lugs when at top;
he picked me, sat me down on a rock
weak was sun, climbing after dawn.
I took time but never…to this date
I have been as was I before then.

Cold of that spring, bullet hole
has remained…I suffer.