Zakani Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Zakani

I heard once an orphan sat somewhere and cried
Had no wear; in hunger; passed a man; was labor
On his head he carried a cargo; packs of bread

Crossroad, he stopped, he waited, then crossed
Later time he returned and sat by the weeping one
Tearful in the eyes to orphan he whispered and cried:
"Oh my man, my friend my cargo is bread; isn't mine
I have tears and my heart; I can give, I can share."

WORLD IS WILD WITH KILLINGS AND DISEASE; EBOLA

"Oh people, displaced and orphaned by London, by Paris, Washington
(And of course by Madrid and Lisbon, Hollanders, Sweden
(Or others and elsewhere)
And by guns of the oppressed-oppressor-unaware and sickness caused by us
(In one way or other)
I'm slave of the time; prisoner in the palms of a cat; like the mouse
(In poems of Zakan)
Like that man with tears who had heart and had Nan, I cry and cry and cry
I'm afraid that one day, I take gun as did the, Killed-Killers, "

I'm clay; Plaster; I am dough, fresh paint; with two hands and brush I take shape...

Ay people of power change my cage and my shell; it's enough...it's enough...is enough.