Substance Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Substance

Wonder if my mother
Should be called a doctor!

If someone took opium,
Poisoned with excess,
People came after her.

When uncle was angered
From wife as a shame:
"I kill me thanks to her, "
My mother went to help.

My mother saved many
And failed to save others.

Therefore, I see Natives'
Way of life, medicines,
Their manner, treatment.

We, the boys, were devils
Ate fruits, whatever
Grew as vegetables,
Never washed, nor cleaned.

Only told our parents,
Or uncles, aunts, elders,
Only when collapsed, fell!

But mother was smart,
Always read in our eyes,
Went, readied right drugs.

Picked few of mushrooms,
Grown in wild, brown,
Grounded, held in palm:
"Lick on this, go, lie down."

Magic is in mushroom,
If is rightly consumed,
No substance in nature
Is harmful, nor danger.