Walker Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Walker

“I am…”
He said
With look; his eyes,
His chest forward and his head up.
“A can collector”

His knapsack filled
He was proud

“I make money
Clean the town
Convert trash to save the mum,
Our mother earth, ”

The words erupt.
His actions talk.

See me healthy in cold and hot,
I walk around
There are the times I run across
A singing bird on a branch, an icicle or melting ice,

Later I learnt
As a poet, as an artist
He hunts topic for works to come.
Deep in vision and yet humble,
Digs deep to roots.

Down to ground his act and work,
He is humble.