September 2020

Back to Issue 8


By Fardowsa Mohamed


    In the nearest blackhole lies

my grandfather’s final



his old words stretch apart

to form floating letters

which warp now


to form

my broken edge



i’m empty

of his memory

and i fill that space


with earthly dust

but as he would say –

in God’s universe


there are no

empty pages

only what is written


and so he wrote

to my father

on his final day


when the light

made a plan to escape

through his every crevice


don’t you sell them

the nomad’s dream

of life



But he did

sell us the red

vision of mars

when the world

started to melt


but in fairness

it wasn’t my father’s fault

that one day

gravity ceased to exist


and all solid things

started to float

and when they ask me


how can you be ungrateful

for this young

pure oxygen?


I tell them

it is not me who speaks,

it is my grandfather’s


atoms protesting

through me


we did not inherent

this thin & flattened earth