…
three random dots.
a wall with a hole as big as my heart.
these dots are complex,
triggering handful of anxious moments
the past places itself carefully
between the sheets of paper
the desk still remains empty.

i talk to the bird between classes,
i read about flowers,
phylogenetic analysis of trees,
an embryo takes my shape
I start searching for my daughter cell.
primordium remains stiff,
we do not grow.
we do not breathe.

my life is a stillborn baby,
my love is a mother’s womb
we grieve for each other’s loss,
the baby goes into the ground,
the womb remains empty
there’s a wound in the heart,
but it aches in the stomach.

…
three dots where your feelings rest,
making home out of sentences we utter
in the complete darkness,
we lie about our hurt
making our past visible as the sun rises.

i am making up a coffee,
a black bird sits on the window
we ask her for the news,
she gives back a box with a hole.

…
we slip through the hole
finding memories,
we find a stillborn baby,
my fingers and a paper.
we write,
we try to breath.

…
we make up a poem,
three dots and shapes
laying anxiously on the floor.
we ask bird for the news
there’s a hole in her eyes.

©Sameera Mansuri 2020.

NaPoWriMo Day 13.

Going on and off because I am unable to keep up with my declining mental health. I hope everyone is safe and sound. 🙂