Agony

Agony
hidden within my smiling face,
lurking somewhere
between skin and soul,
floating in unseen dimensions
-unable to grasp,
yet so present
underneath this never ending
smile.

How do we walk
with bleeding feet,
reminding us what pain is
on every step we take
-unable to stop
this anguish of
walking
too far from ourselves.

How do we talk
with a knotted tongue,
leaving our words meaningless
and incomprehensible
to the outer world
-unable to express
this pain of not knowing
how to seek help.

Agony
hidden underneath my skin.

How do I free this body
from myself?

Jehona Thaqi©

Tulips

I have planted tulips
in our garden –
just in time,
before the first snow of this winter
covers the ground.

You glare at my hands,
covered in scars and blisters –
I wonder if you remember their first touch upon your skin,
how softly they danced upon your cheeks.

You have packed your bags,
with more clothes and personal things,
then memories we have made –
and as you look back for the last time
I lower my gaze.

I have planted tulips
in our garden –
just in time.

You left me
broken and small,
but I will grow upon grief
and unfold
like the tulips
in my garden.

Jehona Thaqi©

Empty

Empty;
too much space within my heart,
memories fading like flowers in autumn, withering, dying. I have buried them long ago.

Empty;
too many thoughts within my mind,
making me forget what I once cherished most in life. For what is life, if there is no purpose.

Empty;
I have forgotten the pain that sleeps within my body and broken soul. I cannot seem to remember, what has been there for too long.

Empty;
how do I explain feeling
everything –
and nothing at all.

Jehona Thaqi©

An open letter (II)

I sit silently upon my bed,
my hands resting on my thighs,
caressing this dress you loved on me,
wondering if you still remember
my name.

I sit there until the sound of rain diminishes into nothingness,
until gray skies turn black
and the autumn wind slowly falls asleep.

I wonder if you remember
the way I danced upon my veranda,
careless –
for there was nothing to worry about;
I thought I had found love within your arms,
instead my arms were nothing to you,
but a port of desire.

I sit silently upon my bed,
my hands pressed tightly on my thighs.

There is nothing left to remember.

Jehona Thaqi©