Privileged tears

The weather has been good, lately,
you say,
while the shy sun enters our home,
frankly, the weather has been good,
but so have we, for the last few years,
and I say years,
for I do not remember the last tear you have shed.

You leave for work,
kissing me goodbye, like within the movies, swiftly, yet lovely,
and I watch you leave as the sun rises,
until you disappear within the bright light of this morning.

The weather has been good, lately,
I think,
while washing the dishes,
and so have we, for the last few years,
yes, years,
for I do not remember the last time you cried.

Tears fall down the sink,
I like to call them my privileged tears;
the weather has been good, lately,
and there is nothing to worry about,
we have been good, too,
for you have not cried in years,
and I have neither,
only on mornings that shone too brightly
against the façade of our home.

Jehona Thaqi©

A letter to my unborn son

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Tonight I watched the full moon
from the open window of my room
and it made me think of you.

If we shall meet,
I will hold your body so close to mine
even if you grow up to be a man
two times my size,
I will clench my hands around your skin
and whisper
it is okay.
Do not be ashamed,
ashamed shall be the one who has made your knuckles bleed,
and the one who has made your voice quiver;
tears are no sign of weakness,
my boy,
they are signs of life.
Weep if you need to,
your mother will be here to listen
while healing your scars with love from a mother’s bleeding heart.

My son,
if we shall meet one day
I will tell you this:
your soul is the reflection of the moon
so full and radiant amongst the sky,
and as calm as my heart tonight.
And if the world tries to make you harsh
you will come running to your mother,
for I will hold your soft hands
and tell you stories of the times I almost became what the world wanted me to be.
You will seek shelter underneath my love,
and I will give to you all I have,
from soul to soul,
I will tell you
to be man enough to be
soft.

Jehona Thaqi©

Shame

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Women,
eyes fixed upon the ground,
tongues tied, mouths shut,
restless in their spirits, yet noiseless to the world.

Women,
obliged to feel shame at any occasion in their lives,
as if it was part of their very existence.

Men,
loud voices, unfiltered speech,
everything so cruel, so raw,
their eyes never lowered,
too proud, too powerful.

Men
who never felt shame upon their own skin
but burned women with oppression.

How shameless.

Jehona Thaqi© A poem inspired by Salman Rushdie’s novel ‘Shame’. “Between shame and shamelessness lies the axis upon which we turn; meteorological conditions at both these poles are of the most extreme, ferocious type. Shamelessness, shame: the roots of violence.”

Cigarette

Today I smoked a cigarette,

the one you used to smoke when your heart was aching,

hoping that it would calm my heart, too;

but the poison filled my lungs and I coughed and grasped for air,

lost within the smoke of my very first cigarette.

I pressed it softly against my small lips,

and in agony of breaking it, I inhaled slowly;

I did not know how to hold it,

just like I never knew how to hold your hands,

maybe I should not have held you too tightly, 

I think today, 

while smoking my very first cigarette.

At the end of it, it does not taste too bad,

the slight burning at the end of my throat feels familiar,

just like your words,

or the lack of them,

for even now, I do not know which was worse,

when you did not talk and left me restless at night,

or when your words burried my tongue and left me speechless.

My very first cigarette comes to an end,

and I watch the sun set underneath the clouds,

sad and lonely I shut my eyes,

how good it would be if you remembered me,

the way you never forget your cigarette.

Jehona Thaqi©

I took this picture from my kitchen window, in sad and lonely hours. Loneliness can be a devastating war inbetween the heart and mind of an individual. 

Unaddressed

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,

unaddressed, sometimes;

and sometimes unwritten.

Jehona Thaqi© (the painting: ‘Dreams’, oil on canvas, Jehona Thaqi)

Tonight

Tonight

I can feel the loss within my heart grow;

emptiness tangling its roots around my bones,

sadness settling inbetween my mouth and eyes,

making it hard to talk

and even harder to cry;

my body a war-field of lost soldiers, trying to protect

the ruins of the saint heart a woman carries within.

Tonight

I have lost my words,

or was it my tongue, I do not know,

and in agony of losing myself 

I have lost the parts of me I loved;

it is said that beauty lies within the eyes of the beholder,

but what beauty is there

in dying hearts and tongue-tied women.

Tonight

I have become the woman you desired;

dear friend,

I have lost my words, or tongue,

or maybe both

and with them the strength of my bones,

I have lost wars within my mind

and I have opened the doors of my soul to the dark emptiness

that will sooner or later conquer

the remaining ruins of this body.

Tonight

I have lost,

and I am losing;

I have become

and I am becoming;

woman enough,

inhuman.

Jehona© I am sorry

If not today

If not today

will you ever see the beauty

in breaking hearts and growing hopes,

will you recognize the eyes of your lovers

underneath the haze of a full-moon’s night,

will you witness the movement of lustfull mouths

and hungry teeth.

I watch you sleep, hands pressed against each other,

angelic face, pale skin, 

you seem weaker at night;

for you lose your weapons,

tounges tied and fists softened.

Today

you called me insane for the way I love,

but have you forgotten that there is nothing sane about loving until you burst,

have you forgotten the letters I have written,

all threehundredandeightynine,

have you forgotten my shaking body on the ground,

have you forgotten yourself, walking away with anger in your face;

you say I am insane, 

but is there sanity in hurting what has not meant to be hurt.

I watch you sleep,

for it makes me think that you are fine,

and it makes me believe that I am fine, too;

your eyes closed, your mouth silent,

I forget the words you screamed and the names you called me,

you look inocent and lovely.

I wonder,

if not today,

will you ever see beyond the body that holds me,

will you understand the roots of my words

and the meaning of my silence.

If not today,

will you ever love,

insanely and honest,

and will you heal

what you broke

within me.

Jehona Thaqi©

Falling silence

Did you count the times you left me

weeping and sobbing into the cussions,

grabing your arms in order to hold on

to what seemed impossible to keep,

while my body ached and you could hear

the bones cracking, eyes closing,

silence falling.

Did you count the times you left me

helplessly calling your name,

asking you to turn back and hold on

to what seemed impossible to keep,

while your body walked straight out of the room,

feet clicking, doors closing,

silence falling.

Did you count the times you left me

speechless, stuck inbetween thoughts and reality,

I stared at you in order to hold on

to what seemed impossible to keep,

my eyes burning in agony of losing

what was never really mine;

tell me, did you count the times

you left me

bluntly and silent,

you left me

broken and helpless,

you left me

filled with love and sadness

and full of empty hopes.

You left me and I could hear the silence fall upon my ribs,

so unbearably loud

it made me breathe heavily;

so tell me,

did you count the times

you left;

for I have counted all the times

you came back.

Jehona Thaqi©

Ashes

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My skin smells of smoke
reminding me of how they lit my dreams to flames
and let them burn to ashes.

They have dragged my soul through mud
drenching every inch of it with pain,
while their evil laughter echoed throughout my body.

I hear their voices in dreams of mine,
talking quietly to me upon how I was never enough,
comparing me to rotten flowers in mid october.

Back then, when they lit my dreams to flames,
I was too small to comprehend their satanic words,
but today I can still smell the scent of my burned skin.

You see, the ashes have been the fertilizer for the flower I have become,
it made me grow in depth, with heavy roots and vivid leaves.
But there are days where I feel like drowning,
nights in which I can still hear their sad voices,
moments of despair and fear.

It is in moments like these
in which I float in the darkest of my memories
like a lost pearl in the wide and bobbing sea.

But I am still shining.

Jehona Thaqi ©

Dear II

I apologize for the scars upon your skin;
the bruises on your legs make you look clumsy,

I wonder how hard you had to hit

for them to look like small galaxies trying to hide the pain.

I feel bad for your small hands and bleeding knuckles,

but sometimes I can hear the walls cry and shake in fear,

and when your fists meet the concrete

this home weeps for hours.

I wonder how long you will hide your wrists;

for the scars underneath your shirt have led me to your heart,

they were the maps to your soul;

but you are ashamed of the wars you have lost

and you forget that there were victories, too.

I cry when I see you lay still upon the ground,

lifeless and silent;

I wish I could talk to you and say that you are enough,

but I have used up my words for the wrong people;

I wish I could tell you that I love you and all of your scars

but how do I say it, if I have lost my tongue.

Dear self,

I apologize for the scars upon your body;

but whatever you do,

keep breathing

and I’ll breathe with you.

Jehona Thaqi©