Where did our love go

Where did our love go,
that once twittered like a bird within my ribs,
within this broken cage that found healing in your arms.

Where did our love go,
that grew underneath our skins,
with roots tangling around our bones
and branches that entwined into an artwork while we held each other.

Let me tell you where our love went,
dearest;
it fluttered away – south,
where it found comfort in warmer hands.

The roots died,
and the branches broke –
there was nowhere our little lovebird could build its nest.

Our love –
it went where it belonged to;
far from us.

Jehona Thaqi©

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To my son

Baby boy,
Mother is sorry for being tired.

You smash your toys against the ground – 
giggling to the sound it makes; 
your eyes wide open
and looking at me with the greatest smile I have ever witnessed; 
yet your Mother is too tired to laugh with you.

Instead my eyes fill with tears,
holding in all of the emotional roller-coaster a mother has to live through,
while piles of clothes are waiting to be washed
and I justify myself to friends that I am unable to see,
for when my baby boy falls asleep,
so does his Mother.

You look at me with those big, big eyes,
Mama, you say and smile.
As if to say it is okay, to be tired.

Jehona Thaqi©

Fear not

Fear not,
for I have not forgotten your promises,
and the words you have placed so softly within my mind,
the words that still echo through my hollow heart –
over and over again.

Fear not,
for I have not forgotten your stories
of how the knight will save the damsel in distress;
the stories that gave me hope
through these years of pain.

Fear not,
for I have stopped crying,
and each time they invade my body
I think of you.

Maybe one day you will save me.

Si jehonë ende i ndëgjoj fjalët e tua në zemrën time.

Jehona Thaqi©

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 gray 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©

If I could

I would put my arms around you if I could;
hold onto the body that held me in silence,
run my fingers across the spine that carried much more than its own weight,
put my cheeks at the edge of the shoulders that have endured rain on sunny days,
wrap my hands around the hardened knuckles and stiff fingers;
but I can not.

You sit across the room,
I glare at your soft features and glowing skin;
your face a mirror of your soul, beautiful and tired,
with wrinkles across your forehead and dark circles underneath your eyes;
I see a young man tired of fighting alone, yet too proud to tell me so –
I would put my arms around you if I could,
but the room grows bigger each time I move towards you,
unable to reach your soft skin and tired soul.

You look at me with big eyes and a vivid smile,
a smile as soft and tender as described in Fitzgerald’s novel,
and you too, like Gatsby, will sooner or later diminish into nothingness
if you do not let me take your pain;
I would put my arms around you if I could,
but the more I run towards you,
the further you seem to be.

I will put my arms around you, dear,
so open up your soul,
for I have love within my broken heart
which can heal both of us.

Jehona Thaqi© I am here

Honey

I have waited four years now,
to write this letter to you, 
honey –
the thought of you lingers in my mind; still
and the sweetness of your words lies upon my tongue.

First, forgive me,
for I have always made everything about me,
as if my silenced heart was everything
that needed to be fixed.

Second, I hope you are well,
for I have not seen you in years,
only sometimes –
when my eyes wandered towards you
dancing around your friends
and your careless smile filled me with warmth.

Third, be safe,
for I know your pure soul and lovely character –
there are too many harsh and selfish people,
just like me –
that could tear you to pieces.

Fourth, I will not write again.
This is the last time I crawl into your life,
the last time you hear my name rushing through your body,
but this time,
honey –
I will not do any harm.

I am only here to tell you
that you are the purest love of all,
and despite the distance that lies between our hearts,
I bear your name within my mind
for as long as I live.

I am here to tell you
that I have not forgotten
the words I said
and the broken pieces of our love.

I am here to tell you
that I still taste the sweetness of your words,
it tastes like you;
honey.

Jehona Thaqi©

Golden Girl

I have lost myself
in order to be you newest trophy;
the golden girl with a stainless soul and untouched body –
as pure as the tears that fall upon my cheeks tonight.

I have lost myself
while trying to fit into your world;
a world too small for my vivid dreams
and too cold for the warmth within my heart.

I have lost myself
over and over again –
only to walk besides you,
the golden girl;
glowing and shining as radient as the sun-
until I became dull and lifeless.

The golden girl,
now turned to dust.

Jehona Thaqi©

Black, bitter coffee

Black, bitter coffee on a sunday morning,
or was it monday, I do not quite remember,
for the days have become the same anyway;
I sit silently in the corner of our living room,
my spine curled and pressed against the wall;
so much space upon the couch we bought,
but I am afraid of not being able to fill the spaces you have left empty.

Black, bitter coffe on a friday night,
or was it saturday, I do not quite remember,
for the days have become the same anyway;
I weep into the freshly washed cussions of our bed,
they smell like lilies and honey,
they smell nothing like you, for I have washed them too many times since the last time you visited,
your scent has vanished out of this house,
yet it is present in everything I touch.

Black, bitter coffee on a wednesday afternoon,
or was it tuesday, I do not quite remember,
for the days have become the same anyway;
I sit at our dining table and read about wars far from home,
I read of homes destroyed, and people buried underneath them,
I cry;
you used to say that there are people dying, 
when I told you that I could not breathe at night, you said that I am fine,
when the lights turned off and my body was shaking in agony of losing the war against my mind, you said that I am egoistic;
I feel the guilt within my tears drown the last hope of winning the wars within me,
I can see people dying, somewhere far,
yet so close.

Black, bitter coffee;
I drink to stay awake,
for the nights scare me,
and there are dreams lurking in the corners of this house,
dreams I do not want to have,
for my dreams have been shattered too many times.

Black, bitter coffee;
I do not sleep anymore
and I have forgotten the days,
just as the days have forgotten me.

Jehona Thaqi©

Dearly

I loved you
dearly –
even the wrinkles upon your forehead
and the silence inbetween your words.

But whenever I talked,
you glared into this world,
you drifted away until my speech broke into pieces,
carrying the guilt upon my tongue –
why do I talk
when there is no one to listen.

Whenever I kissed you,
your spirit was far from mine
and your hands became stiff,
until my lips moved away –
why do we kiss
when there is nothing behind it.

I loved you
dearly.
But do I, still?

Jehona Thaqi©

Sacred land

Sacred land;
where honey flows in rivers
and milk drips from trees, nourishing the earth with motherly love;
a land of dreams hidden underneath God’s veil,
where the wind brings peace
and where flowers sprout from deserts.

*

Women glaring at their trembling feet,
voices shivering, voices lost;
I haven’t heard my own voice in weeks
for my words have meant nothing;
soft skin, soft hearts,
bruised, but not aching anymore.

*

Men staring at our faces,
or underneath our skin;
for clothes do nothing but try to hide the flesh from hungry eyes;
harsh voices, harsh tongues,
its sound echoing throughout our shivering bodies,
invading more than our privacy.

*

Sacred land,
we are still fighting,
silently;
for what has always belonged to us.

Jehona Thaqi© our bodies, our decisions