I too was a poet once O life of my words, but I cannot remember

I too was a poet once O life of my words, but I cannot remember
Since I have forgotten you the love of my art too, I cannot remember
Yesterday during a coversation with my heart I learnt
that any forelock, lips, any mouth, I cannot rememeber
In the city of intellect insanity is quiet as if
the very spontainety the rabid fluidity of his speech, he cannot rememebr
Firstly I was not familiar with the mannerisms required for ruins
Now the ways and traditions of the residents of gardens, I cannot remember
Everyone asks for the shop selling arrows and quiver
but his own body, any customer cannot remember
Time has brought me to such a desert of forgetfulness
Now your name even, may I perish, I cannot remember
Is this not enough that in the state of being without country
the abandonment of my fellow countrymen I cannot remember