Live

She believed she could see stardust in a full-moon’s night. She believed that her eyes were made of sparkles and glitter and that the galaxy lies within them.

Sometimes life is a mess.
It breaks you in places that take an eternity to heal
and it makes you suffocate in pain.

Nontheless, life is a precious gift.
Just look at it in all it’s glory, look at the mesmerizing sky – endless;
and listen to the waves of the sea.

Sometimes we forget.
We forget the cold morning breeze, and the first sip of coffee.
We forget the children laughing and the birds humming.
We forget that there is more to remember than pain.

Just look at it. Look at the beautiful human beings sitting across you.
Look at their smile that light up this world.
Look at the moon and how it shines upon endless sleeping children.
Remember that you were one of them. A child that once slept under the moonlight
and everything was alright if mother was right besides you.

Tell me when was the last time you called your mother?
When was the last time you heared her cracking voice
and you saw her honest eyes?

When was the last time you talked to a stranger?
Tell me, when was the last time you let yourself be vulnerable –
unafraid to be broken again?

Why do you keep protecting what is not in your hands?
Live. Dance across the endless fields of flowers
and forget that there is pain within your fragile heart.

There will always be pain.
You see; life’s a mess sometimes.
But so are we.

Sometimes you need to live.

Jehona Thaqi

To my depression

Here I am,
sitting in this empty room,
once filled with dreams,
now burned to ashes.

Dear depression,
this is to all the years you have taken from me
and to all the memories you broke.

I can still remember the time you came, how you entered my heart so quietly and how you started to conquer every inch of my mind. Sleep was my very saviour, and yet it was so difficult to escape your hungry arms and demanding behaviour. Suddenly everything I did was not good enough. Not enough. Nothing. I was stuck inbetween trying to please everyone and trying not to break down in tears. You held me a prisoner in my own body and I did not know how to escape. God, how I wish I had asked for help, but instead you made everything seem so small and all of my thoughts seemed beyond ridiculous. So I stayed quiet. I said nothing. I lay on my bathroom floor for hours and cried, until there were no more tears left. Blood dripping onto my body – but I never cut deep enough. You made me believe that I wasn’t even enough to end this pain, that I was a coward. Afraid of death. Frankly, I did not want to die. You wanted me to.  

Dear depression, I am sick of you. You have reduced me into something I am not – and when I glare into the mirror I see this young woman with so much pain, a woman who is afraid to seek help. Afraid of judgement. Afraid of her scars, upon wrists and soul. Yet still so strong, for walking upon shattered dreams and broken memories.

Dear depression, you will not kill me. For there are people that need what you have taken from me. And I will stay upon this earth, to give what I have lost. Hope, integrity and love.

Jehona Thaqi© If you are struggling with depression please ask for help! And if you need someone to talk to, I would gladly listen to you. You can contact me at any time.

To Elona

Dearest Elona
– breathe.

It will all pass, eventually,
like autumn leaves that once covered this earth
and scars that healed into unforgettable memories.

When you see a dying flower,
remember to count the endless springs – yet to come,
for there are blessings that grow
upon grief.

Dearest Elona,
I wish you could see the strength within your bones
and the love that sleeps under your skin –
for it is the greatest I have ever seen.

Jehona Thaqi© To my dear friend

To God

Are there words enough
for you who reads hearts,
for you who listens to our very thoughts
when we forget that we are thinking?

You sent flowers upon this earth
in all different shapes and colours
and while some grow and bloom after winter leaves,
others wither just at the thought of spring.

How hopeless some seem
with their heads hidden in the ground,
yet only you know how they struggle
to one day meet the sunlight.
How great others seem
dancing in the wind
in colours our poor eyes cannot capture,
yet only you know how they weep and cry
in the darkness of night,
when no one listens to the withering petals.

It is you who loves them
through autumn and spring
so tell me, are there words enough for you?

Are there words enough
for you who has planted seeds of love within our souls
and who waters us patiently
until we bloom again
and again.

Jehona Thaqi © Eid Mubarak 

Darling

Tell me you’re here, darling,
whispering my name
through shattered promises –
aching like broken bones
and open wounds.

What has become of us, darling?
Two strangers sitting across the room,
glaring at each others faces –
with regret burning in our eyes
and resentment aching within our hearts.

I loved you, dearly,
and I know you did, too,
it seems like this world has been to weak
to carry our unearthly love.

We still glare at each other
and smile –
there is nothing left to say,
darling.

Jehona Thaqi©

If I should die

If I should die
bury me in a field of nothingness,
where flowers do not bloom
and the earth is dry.

If I should die
do not cry,
for death is nothing but part of this life.

If I should die
tell my mother I loved her
and my father, too,
tell my brother I loved him
beyond all the greatness of this world.

If I should die
tell yourself
that you were all I ever wished for.

If I should die
forgive me for my wrongs,
I had the dreams of a child
but dreams last only until they’re shattered,
broken,
forgotten like the dead.

If I should die
forget.

Forget that I lived for your love
and that you filled my lungs with air,
forget the sound of my voice
at night; when I said hold me, but you were too far,
forget my writings, all of them,
for I signed everything with your name,
forget the tears I cried
and the memories you broke.

But remember to visit me,
once
after ten years,
and see how I turned nothingness into everything you have ever dreamed of,
see how there are flowers sprouting out of my grave,
and witness how your tongue falls silent for the first time in your life.

Remember
that you can bury not only dead bodies,
but dead souls, too.

Jehona Thaqi© 2017

Mother – Nënë

Mother,
dear mother,
I have intended to write about you more than once,
but I did not know where to start
or where to finish,
for there are no words to describe the magic within your soul,
mother.

You held me close
to the body which ached and shivered,
but nothing felt like home unless it was within your arms; 
it was your love that saved me from pain,
mother,
your hands that healed the scars underneath my skin.

I am sorry mother,
for I have drowned your cheeks with tears too many times,
your soft, porcelain skin and sad eyes;
a doll, like within Kadare’s novel,
utterly beautiful, yet somehow unreal.

Mother,
I could write page after page,
but I have yet not found the right metaphor which comes close to your soul,
so I will hold you, tonight;
dear mother,
and I will tell you
that you are the roots of my happiness;
no matter how far I will go,
you are within my very soul.

***

Nënë,
e dashura nënë,
sa shpesh deshta të shkruaj për ty,
por nuk dija nga ku të  filloj 
ose ku të mbaroj,
sepse nuk ka fjalë të mjaftueshme për ta spjeguar magjinë brenda shpirtit tënd,
nënë.

Më ke mbajtur afer trupit
i cili ishte i permbushur me dhimbje 
por askund nuk u ndjeva në shtëpi, pos në krahet e tua;
ishte dashurija jote e cila me shpëtoj nga dhimbja,
nënë,
duart e tua i sheruan plaget nën lekuren time.

Më fal, nënë,
qe i permbusha faqet e tua me lot;
atë ftyren tënde te butë, lëkurën tënde të bardhë, sytë e tu të merzitur;
kukull, si e pershkruante Kadareja në librin e ti,
një bukuri jashtëtoksore.

Nënë,
mundem të shkruaj pafundsisht për ty,
por ende nuk e kam gjetur metaforën e duhur për ta përshkruar shpirtin tënd;
sonte do të mbaj pran,
e dashura nënë,
dhe do të tregoj
që ti je rrënja e lumturisë sime,
dhe nese jam larg teje,
ti gjëndesh brënda shpirtit tim.

Jehona Thaqi©

Only a woman

You thought I was only a woman,
but you forgot the strength
that flows through my veins and rushes throughout my body,
with bones of steel and healing skin,
for scars tend to grow stronger each time you cut through women like me;
merely women –
whose strength you thought you had buried
while breaking their souls.

You thought I was only a woman,
but you forgot the hands that have raised you
and the love that has nourished the seeds of the man you are today;
do you remember who held you
when your soul ached and your voice shivered,
she, too, is a woman,
who you considered less
the more she gave to you.

You thought I was only a woman,
but you forgot that I am a raging sea,
calm – just before the storm arrives;
but powerful and unapologetic when it comes to being
only
a woman.

Jehona Thaqi ©

The beautiful woman on the picture is my dearest friend Irma.