A Seaside Apparition

you scare me

because lately
i’ve been imagining you
every afternoon
sitting next to me by the sea
on my left side
where the sun usually sets

you look at it
and i look at you

an aura of sweet shared silence
encapsulates us into a bubble
we say a word here and there
but really language falls terribly short
when faced by one’s soul by the sea

then when darkness falls
and the moon comes out gleaming
from the other side
its silky light reflects faintly on my face
as i look at it
and you look at me

Definition of love

artwork by Muhammed Salah

lately i’ve been going around
asking people what love feels like
to them

it dawned on me the other day
while listening to a love song in the car

that my definition of love
is to feel a newfound desire to exist

to finally feel like
i wouldn’t want to die any minute now

to feel like i still have
so many beautiful moments to experience

to feel the weight of a lifetime ahead
getting lighter, smoother, easier

to know that there’s someone
who truly loves me
for simply being myself

and perhaps most importantly
to know that by my mere existence
i’m making someone’s heart feel
full of desires to carry on
existing, exploring and evolving

A Simple Life

i dream of a life in nature..
blue and green and all the sun’s rising and setting hues..
to be free—physically, mentally, spiritually..
to be softly, imperfectly, ethereally, simply and complicatedly human..

i dream of a life that looks and feels
like a poem..
a life that flows like a river
and smells of flowers..
a life where ice cream is just ice cream
and whipped cream over hot chocolate is not the end of the world..

Divided

photo by Aykut Aydoğdu

i am shattered
scattered beyond reach
i can’t say what i feel with certainty
for parts of me feel something
and other parts feel the opposite altogether 

it’s like i’m a battleground,
an Earth of two irreconcilable poles
of opponents, dualities, paradoxes,
continuously fighting one another
for something or other —
never wining, always simultaneously losing

Undisturbed Solitude

photo by austinrhee

sometimes
it dawns on me
like a weight suddenly pressing
on my shoulders

that i do not know
how to be in others’ company
that i do not know
how to engage with the world

it feels like everything
outside of me is foreign;
the stimuli are sharp and loud and invasive
and i just can’t sync with them

it pains me
that i have absolutely no desire for it
i have no motive to get out of my cocoon
nor a desire to let anybody in

i hear of people
living in continuous undisturbed solitude
and i feel an ache, a sudden pull, an innate desire
to live a life like that

The Lingering Winters of The Heart

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When a loved one departs
Winter submerges our hearts in snow

Our nights become tearful
Our mornings mournful

But then
Spring inevitably arrives
Bringing along sun and life

If the sun
Doesn’t melt away
The snow engulfing our hearts

It’s we who won’t let it
It’s we who reject life

For we equate
The death of a loved one
To the death of ourselves

Four Years

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1101 pm
1460 days later.
3rd of October 2019.
this evening 4 years ago,
i was in a hospital room
lying on a bed next to yours,
listening to music
to mute the fear
of what could happen to you
during the hours of the night.

it’s 11 pm now.
i remember switching turns with mom
to hold the oxygen mask
over your nose
because it bothered you,
but we had to secure it
because your body needed it.
my eyelids were getting heavy
and my arms started to ache.
you moaned from exhaustion
and cried silently at times.

i gave you oxygen
hoping that you’d sleep
and wake up better tomorrow.
i didn’t know
that you were going
to take your last breath
just a few hours from then,
so early in the morning..

it’s 4 years later tonight,
but the hospital scent
and the heart monitor beeps
are as vivid and real
as though no time has passed,
as though it’s happening right now..

1258 pm
1461 days later.
it’s the Fourth of October again.
a Friday this time, not a Sunday.
i’m sitting on the pink couch
that used to open up to be your bed.
i feel numb, like i know nothing
that could make me feel something.
i don’t know what this means.
am i desensitized from all the grief?
or healed from it?
what do you think?

it’s 330 pm now.
i’m in a café, reading a book.
four years ago at this hour,
strangers were filling our house.
i was locked in my bedroom,
in utter shock,
writing meaningless words
on sticky notes,
wondering where you were,
what was life and what was death,
and what exactly did it all mean..

when i did come out,
i saw grandma downstairs.
i noticed her eyes weren’t lined with kohl,
and i realized
that this wasn’t just a bad dream
on a Sunday morning sleep-in..

my tears came in waves.
sometimes
i looked blankly at a wall
as tiny tears streamed down my cheeks,
and sometimes
i weeped and fell to the floor
from the weight of the grief
and the heavy presence of your absence
in this house.

it’s different now.
you know how it is.
you prefer it this way.
and i think i do too.

we’re united
as pure souls.
grief and longing
are not the rope that connects us
anymore.
it’s deeper now.
so pure, it’s ineffable.
words don’t do it justice.
it’s out of language,
deep in the soul.

only you and i understand it.

Homelessness of The Self

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by Jordan Sanchez

During the past few months

The discomfort, the homelessness, homesickness

Contaminated the places I was in

Making me move from one room to the next

One city to another

Now it has spread to my veins

I feel stiffness enveloping my limbs

Like this body is no longer mine

Changing places is not enough anymore

I feel the urge to change my clothes

Yet even that doesn’t ease away the suffocation

Because what I need is to get out of this skin!

I have no option but to succumb and resign

To the dull reality that

I have no home

I have no self

I have no peace

Yet I can’t relinquish the hope

That one day I’ll have what I need

I’ll be my own home

I’ll cultivate a self that I love being

And I’ll build my own fountain of everlasting peace

 

If Words Were Home

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who am i without writing?
who are my friends if not words?

lately i’ve been actively
straying away from this page

sabotaging myself
away from my joy in life

writing is the very meaning
of my existence

through it, and only it,
can i know myself and
make sense of my world

so why am i not writing?
what part of me is trying
to steal this away from me?
what part of me can be so opposed to me
that it dares targeting my source of purpose?

it’s been a year
since i started writing a novel

one month of writing
and eleven of passively yearning
to return to the page to free myself
from this fictional world that occupies
my every moment

i am bereaved, broken;
an orphan in this huge world,
a foreigner in my own body

and only words,
only the act of writing,
of imagining and reflecting,
can mend my pieces
and bring me back home

1397 Days Later.


when i looked at the cloudy sky today,

i saw you smiling.
i closed my eyes in delight,
but i could still see the light.
my heart brimmed with love
like a cup filling from the ocean.
it connected me with you,
and with God, too.
now i feel a delicious togetherness;
an unceasing lovingness.
it comes from God,
and it has the shape of your smile.