Forgetfulness

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. I shall be good as new Written by © Fatima Nusairat