Grave

There are rotting flowers
upon your grave –
grieving their loss
and becoming one
with the dust of your bones.

I wonder how many days will pass
until your name will be buried
alongside your body;
how many days will pass
until my mind will stop carrying your burden.

There are rotting flowers
upon your grave –
I will bring fresh flowers tomorrow
and the day after that
until I forget to remember.

Jehona Thaqi©

Flowers / Lule

I used to pluck flowers
for you
while my white dress
shone bright in spring’s light
and as I danced
so carelessly,
upon freshly watered grass,
you watched from our window
and cried
for all the flowers
gone too soon.

I used to pluck flowers
for you
while you listened to the radio,
wondeing how many fathers had already fallen,
how many mothers were raped
and how many children were left homeless.

I used to pluck flowers
for you
father,
but you never put them in a vase,
like the fathers of my friends.

It is only now,
father,
that I understand
why you never cherished
flowers.

For they reminded you
of our people’s graves.

Unë dikur këpusja lule
për ty
ndërsa fustani im i bardhë
shkëlqente në dritën e diellit pranveror;
dhe ndërsa kërceja,
me shumë pakujdesi
mbi barin e ujitur,
më shikoje nga dritarja jonë
dhe të pikonte loti
për të gjitha lulet
e këputura.

Unë dikur këpusja lule
për ty
ndërsa ti ndëgjoje radion
dhe e pyesje veten
se sa baballarë kishin vdekur tashmë,
sa nëna u përdhunuan,
dhe sa fëmijë kishin mbetur jetimë.

Unë dikur këpusja lule
për ty
baba,
por ti kurrë nuk i vendose ato në vazo, si baballarët e miqve të mi.

Por tani,
baba,
unë e kuptova
përse nuk i ke dashur kurrë lulet qe i këpusja.

Ato të kujtonin varrezat
e popullit tonë.

Jehona Thaqi©

Do you remember / Të kujtohet

Mother,
do you remember my name?
How lovely it sounded
when you called
Jehonë;
like it meant everything
that I was supposed to be.

Do you remember
how you said
that our names will never be forgotten,
as they carry our beloved roots
in the mere sound of our tongue.

Mother,
do you remember my name?
Let it carry our pain
all the way home.

Nënë,
të kujtohet emri im?
Sa bukur tingëllonte
kur më thërrisje
Jehonë;
sikur të ishte gjithçka
që unë supozohem të jemë.

Të kujtohet
kur më thoje
se emrat tanë nuk do të harrohen;
sepse mbajn rrënjët tona të përzemërta
në tingullin e gjuhës sonë.

Nënë,
të kujtohet emri im?
Si jehonë do ndëgjohet dhimbja e jonë,
larg; në shtëpi.

Jehona Thaqi© Jehona is an Albanian name, which means echo

Rosen

Entfaltet;
wie die Blätter der Rosen
– blühendes rot,
leuchtend im Licht der Dämmerung.

Spürst du den Wind,
welcher durch die Blätter tanzt?
Er ruft deinen Namen,
bis die Nacht ihn in die Wiege legt.

Fürchte dich nicht,
auch wenn die Blüten fallen;
so lass’ sie den Boden bedecken,
wie ein Schleier deiner Selbst.

Und wenn nur verwelkte Blätter
über den Boden schau’n;
sei dir gewiss –
der nächste Frühling kommt bestimmt.

Jehona Thaqi©

Empty

Empty;
too much space within my heart,
memories fading like flowers in autumn, withering, dying. I have buried them long ago.

Empty;
too many thoughts within my mind,
making me forget what I once cherished most in life. For what is life, if there is no purpose.

Empty;
I have forgotten the pain that sleeps within my body and broken soul. I cannot seem to remember, what has been there for too long.

Empty;
how do I explain feeling
everything –
and nothing at all.

Jehona Thaqi©

An open letter (II)

I sit silently upon my bed,
my hands resting on my thighs,
caressing this dress you loved on me,
wondering if you still remember
my name.

I sit there until the sound of rain diminishes into nothingness,
until gray skies turn black
and the autumn wind slowly falls asleep.

I wonder if you remember
the way I danced upon my veranda,
careless –
for there was nothing to worry about;
I thought I had found love within your arms,
instead my arms were nothing to you,
but a port of desire.

I sit silently upon my bed,
my hands pressed tightly on my thighs.

There is nothing left to remember.

Jehona Thaqi©

Tulip

image

Tulips grow out of my skin
with roots tangling around this body I once called prison.
To this day, whenever I despise my beating heart,
I remind myself that flowers grow within the cracks of my skin,
inbetween dark and hollow spots,
where once was nothing but grief.
I remind myself that bleeding is healing
and that the tears I cried have been the cleaning rain for my soul.
I remind myself that tulips do not grow
without the cold breeze of winter;
and so do I.
For I have been growing out of pain,
and I will survive each winter to bloom again.

Jehona Thaqi© you will not destroy me

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©

Live

She believed 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.

Sometimes life is a mess.
It breaks you in places that take an eternity to heal
and it makes you suffocate in pain.

Nontheless, life is a precious gift.
Just look at it in all it’s glory, look at the mesmerizing sky – endless;
and listen to the waves of the sea.

Sometimes we forget.
We forget the cold morning breeze, and the first sip of coffee.
We forget the children laughing and the birds humming.
We forget that there is more to remember than pain.

Just look at it. Look at the beautiful human beings sitting across you.
Look at their smile that light up this world.
Look at the moon and how it shines upon endless sleeping children.
Remember that you were one of them. A child that once slept under the moonlight
and everything was alright if mother was right besides you.

Tell me when was the last time you called your mother?
When was the last time you heared her cracking voice
and you saw her honest eyes?

When was the last time you talked to a stranger?
Tell me, when was the last time you let yourself be vulnerable –
unafraid to be broken again?

Why do you keep protecting what is not in your hands?
Live. Dance across the endless fields of flowers
and forget that there is pain within your fragile heart.

There will always be pain.
You see; life’s a mess sometimes.
But so are we.

Sometimes you need to live.

Jehona Thaqi

To my depression

Here I am,
sitting in this empty room,
once filled with dreams,
now burned to ashes.

Dear depression,
this is to all the years you have taken from me
and to all the memories you broke.

I can still remember the time you came, how you entered my heart so quietly and how you started to conquer every inch of my mind. Sleep was my very saviour, and yet it was so difficult to escape your hungry arms and demanding behaviour. Suddenly everything I did was not good enough. Not enough. Nothing. I was stuck inbetween trying to please everyone and trying not to break down in tears. You held me a prisoner in my own body and I did not know how to escape. God, how I wish I had asked for help, but instead you made everything seem so small and all of my thoughts seemed beyond ridiculous. So I stayed quiet. I said nothing. I lay on my bathroom floor for hours and cried, until there were no more tears left. Blood dripping onto my body – but I never cut deep enough. You made me believe that I wasn’t even enough to end this pain, that I was a coward. Afraid of death. Frankly, I did not want to die. You wanted me to.  

Dear depression, I am sick of you. You have reduced me into something I am not – and when I glare into the mirror I see this young woman with so much pain, a woman who is afraid to seek help. Afraid of judgement. Afraid of her scars, upon wrists and soul. Yet still so strong, for walking upon shattered dreams and broken memories.

Dear depression, you will not kill me. For there are people that need what you have taken from me. And I will stay upon this earth, to give what I have lost. Hope, integrity and love.

Jehona Thaqi© If you are struggling with depression please ask for help! And if you need someone to talk to, I would gladly listen to you. You can contact me at any time.