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

Advertisements

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©