She held galaxies
inbetween her ribs
and her soft beating heart.
An undiscovered mistery
underneath a veil that seemed
so much like a prison
but was her very freedom.
There are letters unwritten,
and written letters unaddressed,
as if I forgot the worth of my very words,
but remembered well the guilt inbetween the spaces of my memories.
Sometimes, when the night draws me into my bed,
I forget how to sleep,
as if in agony of dreaming what will never become;
and when the morning turns bright,
I forget how to stay awake,
for there are dreams I can only fullfill while sleeping.
Today I wrote a letter and started from the end,
for when I reached the beginning there was nothing to write;
you can not undo a dream,
but can you forget the dreams that were never meant.
My name underneath a letter of emptiness,
and sometimes unwritten.
Jehona Thaqi© (the painting: ‘Dreams’, oil on canvas, Jehona Thaqi)
I never knew how broken I was
until I felt my shattered pieces cutting through my flesh.
Until it ached to breathe
and it ached even more not to.
Jehona Thaqi© the painting is yet not finished, and so is this poem