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 ©

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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 grey 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©

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. 

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©

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©

Little bird

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Little bird,
I see the fear within your eyes,
when you look at the endless shapes of clouds above your head,
while you try to fit eternal into boxes of space and time,
but you will learn that space can be filled by love, and love only,
and time is but a deception of mankind,
putting its passing at war with our minds.
What a cruel world you might think,
as it stands upon your wings and tells you to fly,
but your fragile bones have been designed to conquer these skies.

Fear not, little bird,
look at the sky as your savior,
for you will lose trace of this world,
but you will find yourself amongst the clouds.

Jehona Thaqi©

Sin

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She had a heart purer than the deepest corner of the sea,
with a spirit just as dark and unexplored,
lurking through the empty streets somewhere within the rising of the moon
and the falling of dew drops.

Her porcelain skin, stained with painful beauty,
shone through each night,
brighter than the northern star.
While her hands cried for justice,
and her eyes screamed for love,
it was her voice which went unheared.

She wanted to tell you that she was not what you believed,
that the words you call her have marked her skin,
that for her the word tiger was no synonym for strenght,
while looking at her tiger wrists.

And when she cried at night,
and tossed and turned, with a heavy heart and tired soul;
you slept in peace upon the cussion of sin.

May you sleep well, then, my friend.

Jehona Thaqi © notes, fragments

Waves

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She watched her life fall apart,
as quietly as the sound of the sea.
Her eyes were fixed upon the horizon,
waiting for this day to come to an end,
so that the waves will wash away
the footprints upon her very skin.

I knew she was strong,
who else could stare blankly
at an event as horrendous as this.
Who else could believe that this destruction
will make the sea go wild
and bring peace to what’s underneath the quivering of her heart.

I saw the dew fall from her green eyes,
and it made me shiver.
The waves must have caught her,
I thought, while the sun was setting,
the water was rising within her body,
cleaning her spirit from pain and sadness.

She watched her life fall apart,
as quietly as the sound of the sea.
But she was a raging wave,
merely waiting to grow strong and powerful.

Jehona Thaqi© the picture was taken from Loredana B., a good friend of mine.

Questions of a broken spirit

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A friend of mine asked me
how it was possible that love
can diminish so fast.
She wanted to know
where all the butterflies have gone to
and if they had landed safely upon the ribs of love.
She wondered if the roots are strong enough,
or if there is nothing more to it
than flowers that will sooner or later die,
when winter arrives.

Her eyes seemed weak, almost dead,
eventhough her voice was stable
and her face always radiant.
She had given love when there was nothing left for herself,
she has sacrificed her mellow lips
for burning tongues and sharp teeth.
It broke me to see her understand
that sometimes people leave while staying,
but what could I do?
What more could I say than
time will pass, and you will blossom again.

Jehona Thaqi©