Fatima Nusairat Poet Prose Poetry

I Am Done

I am done of being tired,
So tell me:
Who will tell 
the story of your grief---
In the brunt of sadness!

I am done crying,
So tell me:
How from the clouds;
The rain will fall? 

Or who will cure 
The crimson night! 
if my wound cured
Oh my talisman!

Tell me now
Who can heal your heart?
Who will heal your pain?
If my wrench _ 
Extend in his cave and slept,
Or if it's fall in (the night's gape)  
Say now, or say not.

Have you ever heard --
Seas rose from their seas,
Rivers displaced from their banks,
And the gleams escaped from their day,
Or the night slept on the night

You who never wake up

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A. H. Sewell March 6, 2015 at 8:58 PM A stirring write, Fatima. The desolation you describe is powerful. - A. H. Sewell

Anne-Lise Andresen February 28, 2015 at 7:05 AM - A sad and touching poem, Fatima - I wish you a lovely weekend - hugs // Anne-Lise :)