Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Rosa Jamali

Suppose that I’m inevitable

Suppose that I’m inevitable
Even the veins of my right hand
Void you on the drafted papers.
My dead hair ends.

On my smooth nails
The breeze
Which is not from the sky
Is bending you,
Or the veins of my right hand
Are running out
Of pulse

Rolled along my fingers
Vanished
Not repeated forever
For the second
I’m a half
Since the first

The veins of my neck cross you all

If the warmth of my ten fingers
Were seized on your torn pieces of breath
All would be over
In the dead-end alleys
In oblivion

SUPPOSE THAT I’M INEVITABLE

Close

Suppose that I’m inevitable

Suppose that I’m inevitable
Even the veins of my right hand
Void you on the drafted papers.
My dead hair ends.

On my smooth nails
The breeze
Which is not from the sky
Is bending you,
Or the veins of my right hand
Are running out
Of pulse

Rolled along my fingers
Vanished
Not repeated forever
For the second
I’m a half
Since the first

The veins of my neck cross you all

If the warmth of my ten fingers
Were seized on your torn pieces of breath
All would be over
In the dead-end alleys
In oblivion

Suppose that I’m inevitable

Suppose that I’m inevitable
Even the veins of my right hand
Void you on the drafted papers.
My dead hair ends.

On my smooth nails
The breeze
Which is not from the sky
Is bending you,
Or the veins of my right hand
Are running out
Of pulse

Rolled along my fingers
Vanished
Not repeated forever
For the second
I’m a half
Since the first

The veins of my neck cross you all

If the warmth of my ten fingers
Were seized on your torn pieces of breath
All would be over
In the dead-end alleys
In oblivion
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère