A letter to my unborn daughter


We have not met yet,
I have never seen your face, nor have I felt your heart beating.
People tend to not believe in things their eyes have not witnessed,
but I know that your atoms are swirling somewhere
inbetween the galaxies and stars.

One day I will hold you and tell you stories
of how your mother survived upon an earth so ignorant and harsh.
I will teach you that good will not always return
but that you shall never hesitate to keep fighting for it.

I will hold tight to your small body,
as I know that growing up to be a woman can be a devastating war.
You see, I have been reduced to being a woman too often
and it has broken me in places I never knew existed.

Your hands will grow like the petals of a rose,
and so will the pain.
It will fall upon your leafs like raindrops,
sometimes slowly, sometimes within a raging storm.
Please do not try to hold it all alone,
I am here to take whatever your hands can not endure.

My daughter, I will tell you that pain knows no age,
despite what society has told me.
You are never too young to be destroyed
nor will you ever be too old for being broken-hearted.
I promise that I will listen to you each night until your swollen eyes collaps
and your soft heart falls asleep.

I will love you with every inch of who I am,
so no matter how often your soul gets ripped into a thousand pieces,
I will lend you parts of mine, you will heal and grow into a beautiful creature,
nourishing this world with seeds of love.

You see, it will not be easy,
but you will unfold yourself,
and I will be here to water you
whenever your petals dry out.

Jehona Thaqi © if I should ever have a daughter




         you have been my greatest burden,
who turned my tongue into stone
and my words into concrete,
leaving my speech too heavy to be understood.

You have built walls out of shame,
and left dreams tumbling down,
as women need no homes for themselves,
but need to seek shelter underneath men’s fists.

You told me that women are best when quiet,
and if they talk, they will not be heared.
You told me that there are words women can not speak,
and if they do, they will be heared.

In a world full of hungry men and starving women,
I lost the balance of who I was
and who I should be.
When I weep, you say I will be fine,
as seeking help is shameful,
and every other woman cries sometimes, but does not complain.

Dear Self,
you had the audacity to say
while standing on my throat;
but today I am speaking.

Maybe you will hear my suffocating pain somewhere inbetween a world of lies and pure souls.

Jehona Thaqi©



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


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©



Somewhere inbetween her soft voice
and angelic laughter,
within her blushing cheeks, as tender and sweet as strawberries freshly plucked out of grandmother’s garden,
in the depth of her eyes in which men got lost like desperate love-letters adressed to the wrong person.
There, within that magical and bruised heart, she had handed out too often,
there lied that childish hope
of eternal love.
She clinged to it through every heart-break,
through tears, shatters and scars,
and yet she smiled,
because she knew that
her heart was soft enough to love again,
and strong enough to fall again.

Jehona Thaqi © if only men knew how strong women are