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©

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War

image

My body collapses,
like buildings these days,
over the dead body of my sister.
Her skin still soft, still warm,
her hair caressing her round face
and closed eyes,
as beautiful as the first day I held her in my arms.
Maybe death is her blessing,
I think, crying the tears of my people,
maybe her heart is at rest now.

My neighbour died today,
I saw his blood painted over the ruins of this town,
I saw his five years old son crying,
lying next to him, holding his hand.
Take me with you, he said,
how could you leave me here in hell.
I walk away, my eyes ache
seeing all these broken spirits.
All these crying children.

I talked to an officer today,
his satanic smile made me want to rip his face off.
Yet, I thought, death would be to much
of a blessing for this man.
He shot my sister,
cold hearted, without hesitation.
He shot my sister,
her small body falling to the ground,
her eyes searching for mine for the last time,
as if to say goodbye, as if to say I made it.
He shot my sister, our sister.

Weeping upon her body,
holding her small hands that slowly turn cold and stiff.
I will visit you soon, I say,
and I will take care of you then, dear sister.

Jehona Thaqi © the picture is not mine