To my husband

I write
whenever I am miserable
and my heart cries in silence
for the empty seats of love within me,
when my mind is heavy
with unsaid words 
and negativity towards itself
– then my hand starts writing 
the most beautiful and tragical poems
I could ever think of.

But today I am writing 
out of happiness and love,
with no empty seats left
– a crowd that has come to witness 
the most magical moment of all.

Today I am breathing
– in and out,
slowly inhaling the sweet scent of your skin;
and exhaling in utter calmness
all problems that we have learned to forget with the passing of time.

Today I am content
with everything there is
and with everything there has ever been.

Jehona Thaqi© thank you, husband


A poem you deserve


I have written too many sad poems
about you.
This ought to be a happy one.

You say people are mostly made of water,
I say science is too odd for you.
You are made of feelings,
of hatred and love,
of agony and admiration.
You are wicked and innocent,
carful and harsh,
you are all of it at the right time.

You say that you never feel down,
I say you lie, I have seen it in your eyes
that even your soul aches sometimes,
that even your dry eyes get drowned
in emotions of sorrow and sadness.
I have never seen you cry
but your eyes have told me different stories.
Do not lie to me, I say,
you are a wave, merely waiting to get strong and powerful,
but remember that there are storms
that will make you weep,
remember that it is okay
to be a raging wave to survive.

You say you are ordinary,
I say you must be out of your mind.
When I asked you if you had ever seen
a sea as black and bobbing as this,
while watching the snowflakes drift quietly on the ground,
you laughed. No, you said,
you had never seen a sea as black and bobbing as falling snowflakes.
That’s how you are,
a magical spirit trapped within a body.

Sometimes I doubt whether you know
how magical you are.
You probably never knew
that you became my stardust in a full-moon’s night,
my sunray who reached the bottom of my heart
even with all the clouds above the sky.

I have written too many sad poems
about you.
This ought to be a happy one.

Jehona Thaqi¬©, why I said “yes”