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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Ribeira

I wonder how many names you had to forget
in order to remember your own,
dear friend;
for you were a masterpiece to this world,
as colorful and historic as the buildings of Porto’s ribeira;
yet broken, for I could see the cracks upon walls
and dying lightbulbs underneath blank ceilings.

I wonder how many heartbreaks you had to live through
in order to love yourself first,
for you thought your heart could hold all of them,
like within this part of the city;
too many temporary visitors dancing through its streets, leaving nothing but footprints behind
and too few lovers who stay to renovate the abandoned homes.

I believe
that your heart is more than a port of desire;
dear friend.

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©

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©

Nothing

Her porcelain skin and rosé colored cheeks
shone brightly in the dazzeling light of a full moon’s night,
her deep brown hair dancing through the wind
and saving the snowflakes from falling to the white carpet underneath her feet.

She was a woman of vivid dreams and far lands,
if only she could see herself through less deceitful eyes than hers;
if only she knew the very impact of her tears upon this earth
then she would walk slowly upon the freshly fallen snow
and conquer more than the ground could ever hold.

Instead she ran home;
her soft heart drowning in a sea of self-destruction and pain,
she slammed the doors behind her; tremendously sorry for her still breathing lungs,
and while her hands began to shake in agony of losing life
or maybe of living,
her cries softened and she fell silent again.

This breath-taking woman
had everything
but saw nothing.

Jehona Thaqi© [my drawing of Lana del Rey]

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

Breathing

I can hear you breathe
heavily upon my skin,
with hands around these thighs
and feet unable to stand still.

I can hear you breathe
heavily upon my skin,
yet in this room I stand alone
but your hands are still at places they shouldn’t be.

I can hear you breathe
heavily upon my skin;
sometimes I forget who I am
and I forget who you have become.

I glare into the mirror,
and I can still hear you breathe
– heavily and tired.

I close my eyes,
now standing still,
and as your hands touch the ground
I think of your hopeless dreams
and living nightmares.

I wish you would stop –

breathing
.

I wish I could begin –

breathing

alone.

Jehona Thaqi©

Please share your thoughts and interpretation of this piece with me. I will be glad to share some of your thoughts. Contact: thaqi.jehona@hotmail.com