Vacillate Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Vacillate

Time has changed one hour
The sky is darker
Even time is a game
What a game the people
It is shame
How bright was childhood, as flame!
Now within dusky walls; of the books,
Read and write steady,
Cirrus cloud’s silver light, sits here in the hair
Slim moon of the life, leans downhill.
Women’s Day, “the March 8th”
Rising Sun: “It is game.”
Women’s life in trench,
In the court is a torch
Sets fire to the head
Vacillate and question:
“Which is right? ”
“Has time come? ”
“Should man wake? ”
(Not the male but mankind!)
Watching logs burning out;
Apple boughs fingering the window
Little buds, tap-tapping on the pane,
Kindled flames like fingers
The devils to take life
The trees budded white,
Not apples but almonds
And the moon declaring: “it is dusk”.
On such day; confused
I was born; within wall
It, later, was declared:
“Women’s day”.
29th December; not today
Un-seasoned; buds and leaves made mistake
With no rain, no snow had turned warm, wasn’t cold.
Now dawn dark, days longer, and moon full
(Powerless a circle in sky)
And I caught by the chair:
“We are games and make games.”
Vacillate…