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©

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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©

Lost wars

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The blisters upon her soft skin,
from all the lost wars within herself,
made her understand that lost wars can be victorious.
Let me tell you this,
despite her failures, she was magic.

She believed that 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.

So why did it matter that she was merely a girl
within a world so cruel.
As long as she believed;
there was nothing to break her permanently.

Jehona Thaqi©

This is no poem

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“I am more than how you choose to see me. And I am not reducing this whole body of mine to a scale from one to ten. You can give me a mark on how I spell my words, but you can not correct my tongue. For I am standing up for the soul that is being born each day, in billion shades of wonderful. I am still trying to find myself and you will not define the time I stop.”

The words that burst out of my mouth.
Things school never taught me.
Thoughts that haunt me.

This is no poem.
Yet for me it is more than that.

Jehona Thaqi©

Untitled IV

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You asked me
why I never said the words I wrote,
why my poems were as beautiful and loud as a sweet summer’s night,
but my words often too soft to be heard.

I gave you my poetry.
It was all I had within my tongue-tied world.

There was nothing greater I could offer,
as I had given up on everything
despite my writings to you.
Even now, sometimes,
when I hear my own voice,
I feel trapped within a body that is not mine.
I will write to you again,
until my fingers bleed and you realize
that my written words are my soul unspoken.

Jehona Thaqi©

Sleeping city

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“Rising sun above the deep blue and calm ocean,
burning clouds above the sleeping city.
The city is still sleeping
but the world is wide awake.”

I wrote this while sitting at the beach of Barcelona, inbetween five and six o’clock in the morning, in late July last year. My notebook was resting upon my thighs, my pen clutched against my fingers and my eyes stared blankely. It was a tremendously sad period of my young life, and that very moment, which I tried to capture with a photograph, made my heart weight less than a feather. I felt free, as if I was starting to understand a new way of living.

I restarted the poem above several times, I crossed out words, made new sentences, but nothing came close to what was happening in front of my eyes. The mixture of those vivid colours and reflections on both the ocean and the clouds were magical. The massive bulidings against the soft and calm water were dancing together,  I relished that moment, as I was extremely happy of having found purpose.

The city was still sleeping. Selfish as I am, it made me think of myself. It made me understand that the absence of happiness in my life does not mean that it isn’t there, that it is non existing. Maybe I was just asleep, sadness being my cussion. Maybe I was asleep at the wrong time, in the wrong place. You see, things will pass. And happiness will always be around, somewhere, at some time.

What a wonderful morning it was, and how much it has affected my days. But still, words will never be enough.

Jehona Thaqi©