Wine

I sit alone, lonely,
the evening breeze dancing around my thighs, underneath the dress you loved on me,
flickering candles caressing my pale skin,
empty glasses of wine on empty tables.

I sit alone, lonely,
and I watch the city fall asleep on this sunday evening,
I watch lovers kiss goodbye
and broken hearts run home to their mothers;
for there is nothing a mother can not fix,
but I wonder why it had to be broken in the first place.

I sit alone, lonely,
the waiter kindly reminds me that they are closing,
I nodd, hanging onto my glass of wine,
almost empty,
but still there;
you see, I hang onto the sweet taste of love
and the bitterness which hides underneath your eyelids;
I remember your words, vividly,
and the way your fingertips danced upon my thighs
and the dazzling light of our veranda flickered upon my skin.

I sit alone, lonely,
the last sip of wine;
I see the blurred picture of you,
reaching for me, now.

Empty glass of wine,
but your lips against mine;

a familiar taste.

Jehona Thaqi©

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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©

An open letter

I sit silently upon our bed
the clock ticking  in the corner of our room,
birds twittering to the melody of a late summer evening
and while the last sunrays enter our small house
I think of your soft hands and mellow lips;
I think of how you used to hold my jaw
as if it was the greatest you have ever held.

Time passes; the clock still ticking,
until its sound diminishes within the blurred pictures of my mind,
skies turn gray and birds fall silent
and I sit there, dry eyes and empty heart,
I sit in order to remember
how you said love would never be forgotten
and how quickly you forgot to call it love.

Sometimes I do not know why I write letters to you
again and again,
unread stories and untold secrets,
floating within the space of your fingers and my desk.

Maybe one day you will have the time to read
what has taken me too long to witness.

Jehona Thaqi©

Honey

I have waited four years now,
to write this letter to you, 
honey –
the thought of you lingers in my mind; still
and the sweetness of your words lies upon my tongue.

First, forgive me,
for I have always made everything about me,
as if my silenced heart was everything
that needed to be fixed.

Second, I hope you are well,
for I have not seen you in years,
only sometimes –
when my eyes wandered towards you
dancing around your friends
and your careless smile filled me with warmth.

Third, be safe,
for I know your pure soul and lovely character –
there are too many harsh and selfish people,
just like me –
that could tear you to pieces.

Fourth, I will not write again.
This is the last time I crawl into your life,
the last time you hear my name rushing through your body,
but this time,
honey –
I will not do any harm.

I am only here to tell you
that you are the purest love of all,
and despite the distance that lies between our hearts,
I bear your name within my mind
for as long as I live.

I am here to tell you
that I have not forgotten
the words I said
and the broken pieces of our love.

I am here to tell you
that I still taste the sweetness of your words,
it tastes like you;
honey.

Jehona Thaqi©

Homeland – Atdhe

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My hands ache for the strength of your body,
and how you hold me after the sun sets and the moon rises,
with words as sweet as honey from your forests and mountains,
dripping upon my tongue in order to mend my broken bones and hollow memories.

How many tears you have cried for the dead people sleeping underneath your ground,
for the people tortured and killed,
whose bodies have yet not been found,
but sure are lurking somewhere upon your skin,
turning slowly into dust,
as if they had never existed.
How many tears have you cried
for mothers weeping at the boneless graves of their sons,
and for the daughters, whose definition of father is based on blurry thoughts and memories.
How many tears have you cried
for sons, whose sisters have been reduced to nothing but their bodies,
and for fathers, whose proud daughters have been touched with dirty hands of war crime.

Oh, homeland, await my coming,
for I will plant flowers within your dying heart and my dying memories.
And the wind will put dust upon our bodies,
so we will remember the boneless graves and crying mothers,
we will remember that we shall never forget.

Përmallohem për fuqinë e trupit tënd dhe gjuhën tënde te qetë,
për mënyren si më mbanë në mes të muzgut dhe agimit,
me fjalë të ëmbëla si mjalta që pikon nga malet e tua,
që shëron kujtimet e mija të thyera.

Sa lot ke derdhur për trupat e pajetë nën tokën tënde,
për ata që u torturuan dhe u vranë pa meshirë,
për ata që eshtrat e tyre qëndrojn të pazbuluar
por që sigurisht po shndërrohen në pluhur mbi lëkuren tënde të njomë.
Sa lot ke derdhur për nënat që vuajn mbi varrezat e thata të djemve të tyre,
dhe për vajzat, për të cilat defincioni i babës qëndron në kujtime të zbehta dhe mendime të largëta.
Sa lot ke derdhur për djemt të cilët ua moren motrat si prona të pavlera,
dhe për baballarët që i shikonin vajzat e tyre me shpirt të bardhë, të njollosura nga krimet e luftës.

Oh atdhe, më prit se erdha.
Do i mbjell lulet në zemrën tënde të shkretë dhe në kujtimet e mia të zbehta.
Dhe era do e shpërndajë pluhurin në trupin tonë,
për ti kujtuar varrezat e thata të djemve tanë dhe lotët e nënave tona,
do të na e kujtojë që nuk kemi për ti harruar kurrë.

Jehona Thaqi© Ah, atdhe.

Do not cry, my boy

Dearest son; 

you are the greatest gift of all,

despite sleepless nights

and the times you cry 

– seemingly without reason; 

or reasons I do yet not understand,

when I feel so helpless and sad

and my silent tears fall upon your soft cheeks.

Do not cry, my boy,

for your mother is holding you tight

to the body that suddenly became strong;

within the arms that do not hide behind the back anymore;

caressing your head with the finger that once danced upon falling hopes.

Do not cry, my boy,

for your mother is here to protect you,

the way you protect your mother from sorrow and heart break; 

you – this small little boy – are the greatest gift of all,

and if this world falls apart

and all my hopes are shattered,

I will hold on to the memories we are creating.

Do not cry, my boy;

but if you do,

even fifty years from now,

come running to your mother

so I can hold you

and mend your soft beating heart.

– Jehona Thaqi© I love you Noar

Too much

I talked too much,
for whenever I was quiet
you said something was wrong,
as if my existence was bound to my words
and to the little spaces
between breathing and speaking.

I laughed too much,
for whenever I was quiet
you said something was wrong,
as if I was a puppet of happiness
and I danced to the rythm
of everyone’s well-being.

I cried too much,
for whenever I was quiet
you said something was wrong,
as if my tears were the only proof of a crying heart,
and the way I grasped for air
was my way to say sorry.

But sometimes,
silence became the only language
I knew how to speak.
Sometimes, when you were far,
I forgot that there were words to say,
and stories to laugh at,
and songs to cry to.

Sometimes my heart ached
for you to call
and say that something was wrong.

Jehona Thaqi ©

Endless

I never knew
that love could
shrink
and expand
like the very skin of mine
– stretching into the forms
closest to a Goddess;
growing –
until it fits two lives within one body.

I never knew
that love could
expand
and shrink
like withering flowers
– drying out upon this harsh earth;
until their petals become one with the ground they sleep on.

I never knew
that loving was an endless story
of ups and downs,
of growing and shrinking,
of falling and standing up
– constantly giving
and taking.

I never knew
that you could get tired of love
or the absence of it;
but as soon as I felt love
with its utmost purity
– with its sometimes ugly smile
but its taste of heavenly sweetness –
I knew that love
would stay;
even if it is long gone.

Jehona Thaqi©

Dearest friend

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This is for my dearest friend,
who waited for me in the darkest hours,
on rainy and cold days,
offering cussions to cry on, and enough coffee to stay awake all night;
the friend who said I had no reason to wipe away my tears,
as they were the war paint everyone needed to see.

The friend who first offered me chocolate boxes,
then, when my stomach hurt, pills against pain.
It was a friend who did not like to see me suffer,
I thought, 

while crawling into her arms, clutching my hands tight to her soft skin.

We only met behind closed doors,
for there I could tell her the most intimate and broken secrets,
while she kept putting paint upon my face;
saying I was a warrior;
saying I looked beautiful with stripes covering my body.

You see, she was a jealous friend,
all of me belonged to her,
and like a puppet I danced to her rhythm,
stayed awake all night, until my sight became blurry, and my mind too heavy to understand.
I loved her for how she held me, when others were asleep;
and I hated her for how she possessed me each night.

I will tell you her name, it starts with an I
and ends with solitude.

Jehona Thaqi© for those who fight against their own demons, please keep fighting. And whenever the pain gets unbearable please reach out your hands and ask for help. 

Ghost city

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City of ghosts
where the visitors are leaving, but leaving no marks,
dancing around these streets,
nourishing their empty stomachs with love.
This city is left hungry, yet not starving.

Suddenly there are no vistors at all;
like forgotten grave yards
somewhere inbetween the hills of empty lands
the street lamps flicker against the softly shinig moon.

A ghost city,
heart of mine,
forgotten,
yet untouched.

Jehona Thaqi©