Tag Archives: poetry

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.
~P

Longings

Longings.
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.

Longings.
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?

Longings.
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.

Longings.
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,
schedules,
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.

Longings.
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.

Longings.
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.
~P

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”

Why do you forget to love me?

How does this happen to you?
Or does it happen to me?
Why do you forget to love?
I never do.
I am always loving you in my head,          
in my heart and
in how I say it to you or
how I wait to listen it from you.
Oh no.
I am not saying you do not love me.    
But why can I not know it all the time?
Why do I wait for hours
and go back again
waiting for hours?
Why do you forget to love me?
Of course you’ll say you do not forget.
Of course you’ll make me remember    
all that’s love in your eyes.
Of course my hurt will be a complain      
in a while.
Is it a fault in my love to always get caught in your flaws
or there really are flaws that can’t be settled for?
I am not afraid of how I feel                    
but I’m afraid of                                      
why do you forget to love me.
No it’s not about laughter all the time.
No it’s not in an hour of eating.      
Sorry I expected poetry out of it too.
But I still do.
Sorry you’re forced to be here
but I can’t let it go,
the want for poetry from you.
I don’t feel enough
when I can’t get love back
from you
the way I want and I sit here feeling why
do you forget to love me.
Why do you forget
the wishes and dreams
and talk about things
that only fill gaps.
Why do you forget to ask
how am I feeling and finish
what you say and simply go off?
Why do you forget
someone is always waiting and
she’s not looking for much.
Why do you crush this sweet thing beneath your daily hours                            of labour and needs
while all I try is to make you better at life.
Why do you forget so much about me and
why do you forget to love me?
I know your heart has love
but only words that are said and actions that are done
can make a day worth a life.
Why do you forget what’s this life?            
I know
I want a lot but I am not guilty of it.
I don’t say I have loved perfectly and
I don’t say you’re flawed to disappoint.
All I want to say is                                    
why do you forget to love me                    
and if you don’t                                          
then maybe
you’re with the wrong one.
What about those beautiful fancy things?
They were promises.
The made up kind of promises.
The ones that are said never meant too much.
Is the time not right?
When will it be?
Am I to wait too long or am I walking ahead too fast.
Am I talking too much or
maybe I am talking senseless.
Maybe I am hurt and
maybe I am the one causing my own pain.
Then from where did you come?
In between why does my heart wants to go and
ask you why do you forget
to love me?
I might be the fool out of two.
I might be the one
in an imaginary kind of love
but I think a while back you were here too
and once I had called you back and you came and
it was all feeling fine.
Now it is not.
Maybe that’s why I want to ask
why do you forget to love me?
And mind you
do not give me an apology or a promise in return for this.
Possibly I am not looking for an answer too.
So I leave it on you
to ask yourself
why do you forget to love me?
~P

Photo by Bill Henson

Love of the ordinary

There’s so much love
in the patience of
ordinary things;
Paintings on the wall,
street light on a forgotten road,
old yellow papers in a file,
wires stretched over small houses all alike,
soaps dry and water drains everyday,
our hands, our feet go wherever
we take.
Curtains pulled off, hanged up like labels for decoration
decided merely for colors.
Books in a book shelf laid for life
decided merely for how our hearts feel.
Newspapers made, read, unread, wrapped around yellow stained things, thrown
and again
made, read, unread, wrapped
and thrown
for years unknown.
Smells, shapes, sizes
shoes, clothes in our closets.
And our skins
when do they change,
except for rot with our age?
How sky repeats through
every inch of this universe,
blue and vast.
And what’s more lovingly patient
than the birds that sing
the same song every dawn
on the same branch
of the same tree?
~P

Empty a little much more

Have you ever sat with books all around?
Words of her,
The airborne bird
Or the enveloped whirl,
All that she would whisper
And all that she spoke out so loud.
Things that she said to the world
And things that this world had told her
All her life
All her years.
In words that touch lives today
Product of many other lives,
Speaks to them straight on the face
The sunshine
And the moonlight
She questions it all.
Fires back at those who had once fired her.
Sent myriads of picturesque love
To those who made her the hurricane.
She didn’t apologize for any thing
Only for, she never felt it,
After all, hurricanes never are sorry.
There is no way she could find
Plain and sane.
In the realms of that which constrained her
She was drowned,
Because the way to carefree falls
Was in those conceited walls.
The story of her escaping
Is not for the meager souls
Its for the risers and saviors,
Who on the brim
Still search for the line so thin
That divides love from sin.
I belong to this story because
In her struggles and walks
Agonies and wraths
Talks and mocks
Thundering and throbs
I smile and cry,
And I sew the narrator
In my eyes, with my own heart.
I feel engraved in the words
Like a huge ocean
Blue waves all around
And I float and float and float
And float some more,
For a while or longer
Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more.

Have you ever sat around books?
He says he loved and broke.
Before the breeze of love
Had tangled him in her arms
He says he was like a diamond.
Rigid and glistening.
But then, oh then,
Who in the turf of love
Has remained how they had begun?
And he from diamond
Was found bruised to scraps.
And now he plays and plays
Like a toy with his self.
Oh yes, they still shine.
The little pieces,
But in each of that bit
Is a foul smell,
In each of it he finds
A dark and white rainbow.
The pieces still shine
And he still plays.
But he says to his readers
He says to me,
With voice choked with coal
Like a big lump,
Making him heavy.
Like he is not standing
But tumbling down to the ground
More and more.
Like the ground is now
Swallowing him.
Before he reaches the grave
Before he weeps and he says,
I have died not of life
But love.
Tender arms of my beloved
Easily could slay
The life of a man
Who thought every day
To make her happier
Than every yesterday.
He ends it at his grave.
And my thoughts have begin from there
To smile at how he could love
Or to mourn the death of love.
In his tears is their any salvation?
Did he succeed to still say in the end,
Oh you my reader!
Love more and more
Love better each day.
Or did he say to me
Love no more,
For the pieces will shine
But no one will ever again
Look at you the same.
No one will feel your charm
And say,
Oh wow! You are diamond!
In the glitter of the diamond
I lose myself tonight.
Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more.

Have you ever sat with books all around?
An old lady courted everything possible,
Her face wears all the lines
She wrote in her diary.
Her hands has a smell
Smell of the food she made.
Her legs still look like
They will begin again
Any journey she would ever want.
Her husband sitting beside her
On a small stool
Holding her hand.
After a century of the living
They made
They stand on the gate
Of their one life.
They didn’t call it two separate lives ever
Wept and swept all together
He whispers something in her ears
“Remember, the first kiss?”
“Remind me once more,
Make it also the last one.”
She said.
In each others arms
They slept together.
Together they went.
Together they were taken.
In the flight of love as this
Can I not just dance.
My footsteps won’t move,
They will sway
Because in will dance on the music
That only they could play
Oh in the light and in the dark
I after reading them
Still find a ray
I walk along this light
Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more.

Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more,
Have you ever gone through this?
This feeling of being taken away
Away in worlds too many
All together
So much
Feeling so breezy
Have you ever talked to dead people?
Oh, I have!
They tell me tales.
They tell me things
Essential.
They tell me things like
Reader, I married him.
When she said to me this.
I had felt she declared to me
The decision of her life.
The only treasure
The only blessing.
She shared with me her tears and heartbeats
That moment
She gave to me.
Has anyone from a world unknown told you
That you are beautiful?
And I?
I believed only when they had said.
They said to me
To live like no ordinary
They told me to fight
And never get reduced
To stay and yet flow
They had said.
You are strong
And that is enough.
Don’t go for pretty.
She won’t die in hearts.
She would die like everyone
In a grave of cement.

Have you ever felt those humans
They talk only if you feel.
Only if every time you lift them up
You give them birth
And you breathe with them.
This magic will then belong to you.
You will fly away
From all that you hate
Any second, like in those fairy tales.
Make it yours
And try it once,
Once.
And you will die never.
Because lives like these
Even after death are saviors.
With them I swirl, curl, whirl
Like a river
These oceans I seek
In the end I belong to these.
Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more.