FORGIVENESS
BY FATIMAH ASGHAR
for the srebrenica genocide & the people who lived after
1. Harun’s uncle lives in a hornet’s nest.
2. There is no honey in this hornet’s nest, but that is not unusual.
3. Honey is a thing of bees. Some hornets have managed to figure out how to make honey. They make it for themselves behind the buzzing back’s of bees, this secret they stole.
4. Harun’s uncle lives among hornets but he is not a hornet. Perhaps he is a bee or a wasp or another insect or a human or a blade of grass or all of the above or nothing or nothing or nothing at all.
5. I never knew the difference between hornets and bees and wasps until I lived in a land of honey, safeguarded by beekeepers.
6. If I were to ask Harun’s uncle he would probably say that he is nothing; that either we are all hornets or no one is a hornet at all.
7. Once, twenty years ago, Harun’s uncle didn’t live in a hornet’s nest.
8. If I were to ask Harun’s uncle he would probably not understand what I was talking about because we don’t speak the same language and because I am a nice girl who does not think about things like hornets or bees or honey or its lack.
9. In that once upon a time, there were hornets and bees and wasps and blades of grass and battery factories and dandelions and they all lived together.
10. There were patchworked nests and combs and burrowed homes and no one gave them a second thought.
11. Then, there was honey everywhere and everything tasted good.
11a. (Perhaps not everything, but most things.)
12. If I were to ask Harun’s uncle he would buy me a beer and say that everyone deserves a bit of honey, no matter what they’ve seen.
13. Naturally, bees and hornets cannot share the same nests. Upon entering, hornets try to eat the bee’s babies, thus causing the bees to attack them.
14. They should be kept separately, you see.
15. Once, twenty years ago, the spring slowed down and the hornets and the wasps and the blades of grass and the battery factories began to grow weary of the bees.
16. It is not the first time that nature has hinted at this truth. Diversity is not natural, rather a project requiring constant work. The second you stop—
17. Once, twenty years ago, the honey stopped, and there was a winter in July.
18. The sun was baking and the sky was blue like a crystal and the flowers (had they not been trampled on) were in full bloom. But no one bothered to look up and feel sky and no one bothered to believe the sun and everyone could feel the cold, everyone could feel the still, and everyone knew, despite all the evidence before them that winter was coming.
19. The bees poured into the street in front of an old battery factory where the beekeepers lived.
20. The beekeepers had promised to protect them.
21. They knew the hornets were coming.
22. 25,000 bees in the streets, buzzing in hysteria.
23. Child bees, carrying what little honey they could find, and crying a horrible drone.
24. The beekeepers would not open their doors to let the bees in.
25. Instead, they waited behind the fence of the battery factory, their guns pointed at the buzzing.
26. They knew the hornets were coming.
27. This would be the first year without honey.
28. Harun’s uncle sat in front of the battery factory, then: a bee amid bees, waiting.
29. When the hornets rolled through the streets, the sky remained a brilliant blue, the sun beat into the backs of the land, the flowers blew gently in the breeze, and everyone knew that they had been lied to.
30. In the middle of the baking heat of July, winter had arrived.
31. The hornets lined up the male bees.
32. They put the female bees and child bees on buses.
33. They marched the male bees to dug out trenches.
34. Lined them up.
35. Turned them around.
36. What an efficient use of bullets.
37. The women bees watched as they were being driven away.
38. This would be the first year without honey.
39. Harun’s uncle didn’t watch.
40. Harun’s uncle fought.
41. Harun’s uncle joined a group of seventy eight men who took flight into the woods before the hornets came.
42. Harun’s uncle walked the woods for seventy days.
43. After seventy days, he no longer had skin on the bottoms of his feet.
44. After seventy days only eight of the men were stick enough to walk, only eight of the men were bee enough to buzz.
45. This is a thing he does not talk about.
46. After, the beekeepers danced and the hornets took up the bee’s nests.
47. After, a few bees returned.
48. But the honey had frozen and their combs were brittle and under the baking sun they lived in a forever snow.
49. Every year they find new trenches in the woods, with the bodies of bees scattered like dandelion pollen.
50. Every July they place marbled snow across the battery factory and pray for the return of honey.
51. Harun’s uncle lives in a hornet’s nest but he is not a hornet.
52. Harun’s uncle knows all the hornets who live in the nest, what they have done.
53. Sometimes, Harun’s uncle buys them a drink at the bar.
54. Sometimes, they buy him one.
55. They always say ‘hi’ in the streets.
56. The grass grows. The flowers sway. Harun’s uncle refuses to move.
57. This is my home.
58. He remembers the taste of honey.
59. There’ll be summer yet.
1. Harun’s uncle lives in a hornet’s nest.
2. There is no honey in this hornet’s nest, but that is not unusual.
3. Honey is a thing of bees. Some hornets have managed to figure out how to make honey. They make it for themselves behind the buzzing back’s of bees, this secret they stole.
4. Harun’s uncle lives among hornets but he is not a hornet. Perhaps he is a bee or a wasp or another insect or a human or a blade of grass or all of the above or nothing or nothing or nothing at all.
5. I never knew the difference between hornets and bees and wasps until I lived in a land of honey, safeguarded by beekeepers.
6. If I were to ask Harun’s uncle he would probably say that he is nothing; that either we are all hornets or no one is a hornet at all.
7. Once, twenty years ago, Harun’s uncle didn’t live in a hornet’s nest.
8. If I were to ask Harun’s uncle he would probably not understand what I was talking about because we don’t speak the same language and because I am a nice girl who does not think about things like hornets or bees or honey or its lack.
9. In that once upon a time, there were hornets and bees and wasps and blades of grass and battery factories and dandelions and they all lived together.
10. There were patchworked nests and combs and burrowed homes and no one gave them a second thought.
11. Then, there was honey everywhere and everything tasted good.
11a. (Perhaps not everything, but most things.)
12. If I were to ask Harun’s uncle he would buy me a beer and say that everyone deserves a bit of honey, no matter what they’ve seen.
13. Naturally, bees and hornets cannot share the same nests. Upon entering, hornets try to eat the bee’s babies, thus causing the bees to attack them.
14. They should be kept separately, you see.
15. Once, twenty years ago, the spring slowed down and the hornets and the wasps and the blades of grass and the battery factories began to grow weary of the bees.
16. It is not the first time that nature has hinted at this truth. Diversity is not natural, rather a project requiring constant work. The second you stop—
17. Once, twenty years ago, the honey stopped, and there was a winter in July.
18. The sun was baking and the sky was blue like a crystal and the flowers (had they not been trampled on) were in full bloom. But no one bothered to look up and feel sky and no one bothered to believe the sun and everyone could feel the cold, everyone could feel the still, and everyone knew, despite all the evidence before them that winter was coming.
19. The bees poured into the street in front of an old battery factory where the beekeepers lived.
20. The beekeepers had promised to protect them.
21. They knew the hornets were coming.
22. 25,000 bees in the streets, buzzing in hysteria.
23. Child bees, carrying what little honey they could find, and crying a horrible drone.
24. The beekeepers would not open their doors to let the bees in.
25. Instead, they waited behind the fence of the battery factory, their guns pointed at the buzzing.
26. They knew the hornets were coming.
27. This would be the first year without honey.
28. Harun’s uncle sat in front of the battery factory, then: a bee amid bees, waiting.
29. When the hornets rolled through the streets, the sky remained a brilliant blue, the sun beat into the backs of the land, the flowers blew gently in the breeze, and everyone knew that they had been lied to.
30. In the middle of the baking heat of July, winter had arrived.
31. The hornets lined up the male bees.
32. They put the female bees and child bees on buses.
33. They marched the male bees to dug out trenches.
34. Lined them up.
35. Turned them around.
36. What an efficient use of bullets.
37. The women bees watched as they were being driven away.
38. This would be the first year without honey.
39. Harun’s uncle didn’t watch.
40. Harun’s uncle fought.
41. Harun’s uncle joined a group of seventy eight men who took flight into the woods before the hornets came.
42. Harun’s uncle walked the woods for seventy days.
43. After seventy days, he no longer had skin on the bottoms of his feet.
44. After seventy days only eight of the men were stick enough to walk, only eight of the men were bee enough to buzz.
45. This is a thing he does not talk about.
46. After, the beekeepers danced and the hornets took up the bee’s nests.
47. After, a few bees returned.
48. But the honey had frozen and their combs were brittle and under the baking sun they lived in a forever snow.
49. Every year they find new trenches in the woods, with the bodies of bees scattered like dandelion pollen.
50. Every July they place marbled snow across the battery factory and pray for the return of honey.
51. Harun’s uncle lives in a hornet’s nest but he is not a hornet.
52. Harun’s uncle knows all the hornets who live in the nest, what they have done.
53. Sometimes, Harun’s uncle buys them a drink at the bar.
54. Sometimes, they buy him one.
55. They always say ‘hi’ in the streets.
56. The grass grows. The flowers sway. Harun’s uncle refuses to move.
57. This is my home.
58. He remembers the taste of honey.
59. There’ll be summer yet.
Fatimah Asghar is a poet, performer, photographer, writer and thinker who is almost always in-between two places. Currently, her heart is in Cambridge with her sisters while her body is in Sarajevo, where she is on a Fulbright grant, writing, researching, exploring and constantly tripping over herself. In her time spent not being the clumsiest person in the world, Fatimah enjoys using different artistic mediums to play with traditional storytelling. Her literary work hovers between prose and poetry, examining fact through a lyrical lens, and uses the page as a stage and the body as a page. Her work can be found at www.fatimahasghar.com.