Treasure Island

Nassy Fesharaki

(Dec 29 / Iran)

She Walks


I can hear her walking as I heard Harrison on the drums
I can feel her coming as I felt goats walking on the rock
I picture her as I have pictured, The Soviet March Band

The lyrics in the music of her shoes beating the concrete
Talk to me, they whisper, they shout, they warn me 'Go'
She is coming, nearing, and is wearing a tight dress, blue

Camera in hand I gaze at the grass, I focus concentrating
'Nature is beautiful; with sun in my horizon I feel happy
Lost in the arms of Mother Nature 'Let's, record, picture'

Perfumed and simple, with some jewelry, proud, young
Has done her hair, made up her face, eyes and eyebrows
Lips, cheeks, hair right or left or straight, finally straight

I choose the object, I zoom, I focus and the shutter sings clicks
It would have been in the darkroom of my camera; not existing
So on the memory card of my camera, a flower photo is added

She is gone; possibly whispering, 'Crazy' she must've meant it
I do not whisper, smell and think, 'I wish...'
I stop, photos, one more, two more and more and more; now her

Submitted: Monday, July 14, 2014
Edited: Monday, July 14, 2014

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Topic(s): romantic

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