Snowed High Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Snowed high

I miss the days of dusty rough roads, few vehicles
The days that it snowed high, we dug tunnels and ran
I read the words on a sheet; the page from a notebook
Words in green, hugged tightly as did the close friends
The spike of hedgehog was the pen; in a pot liquid ink
I miss Ahmad, my brother, the writer of the letters; He
Came to change the world everywhere, even for chickens
They ran to his whistle, jumped over water and landed
On his hands, shoulders, arms and palms as fruit on tree
Now, keyboard, absent the sheet from a notebook; no ink
My head in the internet's net, no feelings; and life is dull.