Scene Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Scene

Willows’ hairs are down
Their neighbors, clowns
Dressed in colors
Red, blue, brown
Some wearing crowns

He lies on ground
His elbow angled
His hand turned to fist
To sky, knuckles

Head lay on the hand
Looking down as birds
Searching for the worm

Hundreds blades
In deserts, camels
Making caravans
Standing grass

Dew drops hanging
Working as prisms

The odor of wet
And the rotten leaves
Mixed with dead grass

He turns to his back
Soaked, breathes breeze
In early morning
Of great autumn

Waiting for the sun
That will shine bright

Scenes are marvelous