Swear On Pen Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Swear on pen

Ex-pilot
I fly; fly high far above silver cloud
I pass the crescent and star and cross

There I see Ozone holed; then I cry
What a shame seeing whips' lines
Roads on backs like Nazca's
Pants and hairs pulled down, round
Wombs are filled; men are killed

I have tools and gadgets, see through
Wilderness is trimmed
Trees cut; fish is rare; empty are plains
Piles of bones in one pond, mass graves
Seeking for treaties, see them burned
Find how words are ignored
See the farms ash-covered
To ground they are burned,
Lands are red with blood; genocide

This is us, who we are, the mankind
Taking leave, I want out, cut me off...

And you pen, you rebel, go own way
You're clown, laugh-cry-embarrass.