Tag Archives: life

You’re the light: light of all lights

You’re a quintessential summer song
bittersweet, mixed with a soft humming.
How my heart beats, almost lonely,
without your hand in mine.

You’re that red wall with the window
from where the glitter seeps in
and turns me into a labyrinth of lights.
Forever the favourite one.

You’re that melodic old radio
that sometimes sings and
Sometimes makes noises like a hullabaloo
How do I love the noises and songs alike.

You’re an album of photographs.
If I open too much, I drown too much.
If I let it closed, my heart is closed.
When I speak to them, they sing back,
same way as you.

You’re like a secret box full of old books
that makes me a child
always running for you,
for the graves of your naive little poems
you saved from the world, dearly for me.

You’re like an evening walk.
I can blabber everything and not know
I spoke to another soul.
You wear my thoughts on your heart,
same way grass covers our harsh feet.

You’re like that swing I miss.
Every touch of you that I remember
swirls everything in my stomach,
like a pool full of fishes
embracing every drop of me.

You’re not you anymore
How joyously do I see us
A you and a me
running into the wild
with sky above us, infinite.

I wait for the rain

I wait for the rain all day long.
I’ll smell the sky,
mud in the pots and old red walls.
I will forget everything
Of broken heart of the black bird
shooed away for her colour.
Of small crooked stone like particles
that made my eyes red and teary.
Of waiting for a home standing alone
but never too lonely amidst
tall trees all around and a lake
of green water how I saw in picture books.
Of longing for the end of this loop
they tell me is life and I,
I do not believe and I will not believe
for life is for now in the rain and
in my desperateness
to wait and wait and then to forget.

I wait for the rain all day long.
Summer starts stinking
no way different from people crushed in
small big houses with minds still alike
and their wraths and dooms.
Dust covers our faces as if before it
we stood naked and raw and
our minds not so corrupt.
I wonder, I wonder if summer intends
to make jokes on us and
laugh every season on our broken bloom.
Hot air we breathe but bones still frozen
and I wait for the season to match with
how my heart feels.
May be then my songs and sorrows
will drown together into one another,
may be the same way first rain drops
sizzle on the wet old heated floors.

I wait for the rain all day long.
Vast summer lands stand lonely,
but do they look betrayed?
Sun burning for whom?
What grandeur has he ever owned?
Muse is always that moonlit sky
under which the lovers sleep.
Those strokes of hot but golden light
that fall on the dirty footpaths
are eaten as sausage with dry wheat rolls
by beggars enrobing their dreams
with sky full of lies,
every night, every night.
Who knows these lies are their only shimmer, the only gold of their life?

I wait for the rain all day long.
Everything is wrong, so wrong,
but everything will be right when the sky
is not too bright,
a little dull and a pause without funerals.
Waiting remains but
seasons change;
But a man never said four seasons
be enough for escapes and
when have we not asked for more,
but a little more?
An unseen solitary ocean is waiting
in my songs for a few drops to wet my face.
I wait for rain all day long.
I wait……


Of being able to say what I can’t hold anymore.
Of time.
Not running out of my hands like sand.
Creeping slowly when I want to halt and feel nothing.
Of being able to cry,
Oh cry!
Cry my bones out
and feel weightless.
To feel it sliding down my stomach
that wet, teary smelled, broken breath
that makes noise like death.

Of a month after months,
a day when all the waiting
would be justified.
Of transformation.
When walls, smells, soaps, noises, faces, foods, colours, water, spaces, vacuums, fillers, rooms, ceilings, birds, roads, dust, seasons would change.
Of answers beyond the stories of transformations.
Would it be enough?
Or would I still wait for another story with a longer waiting?
And would this be my life?
Just this?

Of being loved the way I want.
Of being able to drown into those moments that look like pauses,
like photographs still and deep.
And no matter how long you gaze at them,
nothing about them changes.
Of someone someday loving me
without telling the need to leave
for work, meetings and appointments.
Someone free
of the damages of this world.

Of being able to cut off from these ideas
that I never chose but
they still surround me like daily soaps
running in some distant room.
Whom would you want to kill more?
The makers or the viewers?
The idea of settling down,
earning money,
getting up at 8 and sleeping at 10,
using calendars and watches and setting alarms,
of being a people pleaser,
going to parties and wearing make up,
of not being moody, looking presentable,
following dress codes, hiding womanhood,
avoiding rebels, hating rovers, condemning hippies,
men and women and some other avoidable species,
hate the government, argue to look safe,
women’s respect is in her vagina, men have balls of steel,
live in hypocrisy and die full of regrets.
Of imagination.
Imagine a world without these ideas.
Of realisations such as these:
even imaginations
are nothing less than wars.

Of rushing into now and now
and now in this next moment.
When anything can happen
Or maybe nothing would happen.
But at least it will be a newer now.
And in every now
I look a little more like nothingness.
Every now full of silence.
More peace and the world
more disappeared.

Of someday being able to
write this again
another space, pen and paper
and putting an end to it.
No, not the poem,
the longings.

By Fortesa Latifi

There is sadness that has been living in my bones longer than I’ve been walking upright.
Longer than the willow in the front yard has been weeping.
No one knows what it’s saying but it sounds a lot like prayer.
It sounds a lot like penance.
I am still hurting and I am still lying about it.
There is no soft way to say that sometimes I forget to breathe so I skip that and ask what’s for dinner instead.
I am still learning how to do the easy things like eat when I’m hungry and leave my bed every day.
I am still learning to twist my tongue around words that resemble the truth.
I am still falling asleep with hope suffocating between my clasped fingers.
I am still losing my mind over the moon.
I am still stepping around broken glass and thinking that counts as strength.
I am still hoping the world ends before we do.

• Fortesa Latifi, This Is How We Find Each Other “I Am Still Learning How to Do the Easy Things”

The picture of tomorrow

There will be a day when you will count on all that you have and try to figure out what all is lost. May be you want to do this today, here and now. But either you are scared to face it or you lie to yourself that you have much better things to do. But nothing will be better than knowing why is everything happening the way it is. Now, don’t tell yourself it is destiny, know, that everything is a mirror to your choices. The man who loved you and you had not loved him back, those moments when you could go and simply tell your mother that she is the most hard working woman you have ever seen, when you could sit and eat dinner with your family rather than your computers, when you could have spent money on your siblings rather than your rich boyfriend, when you could have taken out a few minutes for your grandfather and listen to whatever he wanted to share, when you could have smiled a little more, loved a better heart. Is it not better to seize the moment and look around than looking back after years of joys and sorrows, gains and losses? Things you do not do now, will accompany you till you realize that you have lost the opportunity to live in that moment. More the sense of loss, greater will be the regret. Imagine a day after 20 years from now when you get up to find love and all you see around is a long contact list in your phone, a royal house or a luxury car or a day when you realise that whatever you did was just because you wanted people to know you and in all this you lost what you knew about yourself or a day when you will know that all those people you were running behind actually did not deserve a second of your life or a day when you realise that you never understood the exact definition of success, glory, love and laughter. It sounds simple today, but nothing would be worst than this tomorrow. Life is too long to realise some day that you have not lived it enough.

Because my mom once said..

Because my mom once said,
Life is a journey
And it won’t be that sturdy.
Crawl like a creeper
Or dance like a tapper,
It would let you decide
But still will push you over the tide.
There will be a day
It will hold you back,
Fight the tears
Dread the day
There is a light in you
Don’t see others fly away,
You are there to fight the grey.
Those who’ll go out of your sight
Could not make your home bright,
Don’t count on people
They are not for you,
Look up to those stars
That’s where you can hide your scars.
There will be days
When all you’ll sense would be darkness,
Don’t forget to look through it
Colors will be waiting
To fill your emptiness.
Feel the breeze
Open your arms,
Drink the rain,
Love the wind,
Let the smell of the flowers
Cover you,
Let the music of the birds
Be your language,
All you will learn is to smile
Because all days won’t be alike.
Because my mom once said,
Promises are like rivers
They don’t have any shape,
They begin from an end
And those ends seldom meet.
Don’t wait for any soul
Winds are born to be blown,
What they take
And what they leave
Is another story
Little told and so untold.
There will be days
When you’ll get tired
You’ll crave for love
You’ll wait for someone to hold you,
Breathe and begin again
Because some cries go in vain.
It won’t warn you before the fire
Not even when you will be half burnt.
It won’t collect the ashes
But that end
It will go in your name.
Because my mom once said,
Life is like a game.
You’ll never win
But you won’t mind losing in the end,
This loss would bear what you are
Like a mirror to your sabotage.
It won’t flow with happiness
You’ll be the struggler
And you’ll have to be the believer.
Because those who don’t believe
Throughout they bleed.
Even when you don’t find the reasons
Remember, autumn is also a season.
Beauty is not in fulfillment
It’s in half said quotes
Musical notes
Unsung melodies
Quite soliloquies.
Happiness is not in the balloon that flies high
It’s in the wings of those nestlings
Who so adamantly try,
It is not in victories
But joyful histories
Curious mysteries
Unexplained madness
Self created sadness.
Because my mom once said
This life is your creation
A battle without destination.
Catch all the butterflies
Live all your cries
Rise like someone will catch you,
Fall like someone will push you.
Because one day you’ll start this journey
All over again
Not because this won’t be enough
Enough is never the word
It’s always more and even more
But because you’ll once again become my sword
And I’ll not hold you ever
I’ll let you sway.
Because my mom once said,
I am born the brightest sunray
Life is just a child’s play.