Forgetfulness Poem by Fatima Nusairat

Two palm shape a bowl for wound.

My mouth is a big hole of cry
ruminates in the dark the sorrow.

My legs flint-stone.
The hammers of night sparked
the cry from my chest.
The sleepers of the graveyard heard it.

This is the hell where heart melted.
I see the dark, cleaves the silence
from ear to ear, like an old warrior,

Grinding the memory, agitating sadness,
striping a heart of its leaves.
the shadow lays his head on the wall.
The ravens are cheerful.

On October the little squirrels come
to trade their love for hazelnuts.
Love warms up the lonely hearts.

Love is crematory of loneliness.
Love is the crematory of my heart.

Two palm shape a bowl for wound.
My heart's stitches itch,
forgetfulness is the heart drug.
Tomorrow I shall be different,
tomorrow I'll be good as anew.