#by alkeadora
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fool's paradise
my therapist told me to write,
all the beautiful things in life,
but she didn't know quite,
you're all I got in my life,
the air is tainted with miasmic,
but you're the air that I fume,
the water is polluted with toxic,
but you're the water that I consume,
my therapist said our tale was done,
a fresh chapter, a new one begun,
but little did she know, on my own,
tears penned new pages, each one undone,
they say you're a walking red flag,
but baby I'm a goddamn colorblind,
if you say "jump," I'd say, "how fucking high?"
if you say "leave," I'd say, "I'd rather die,"
stupid me would lament,
over you who could care less,
stupid me would blame,
over me who could do less,
how did I end up like this?
which part of the mistake I did?
when all I know is just loving,
and all I get is just losing.
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ghost in the town
my fine man, my lovely man,
what deed did I do to deserve you?
new pages, where everything began,
drawing smiles so they won't be blue,
ice melts so that flowers bloom,
his shadow disappears in the cave,
is it love or rage that is in the room?
in the darkness where the pain is grave,
and who's the one to blame?
when I'm afraid of being on my own,
who's the one to catch the flame,
and to scare the ghost in the town?
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admirable april
drawing a line, setting a new goal,
leaving the girlhood that he stole,
declaring myself with a new soul,
and completely having me as a whole,
one last step, I reached the peak,
the icy cold wind slaps my cheek,
one moment and it tried to speak,
"darling, you're no longer the weak,"
six months of living in hell,
day by day when I couldn't tell,
would my life eventually be well,
or would it end with a farewell,
those gray times come to color,
and I woke up again to discover,
saying, "goodbye to all the suffers,
I'll be ready for this new summer,"
I'll bloom in with my own crown,
that nobody can take it down,
I'll dance all summer in my gown,
with blissful people in the town.
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de moi, à moi
this wholesome post is dedicated to myself because I love myself that much. feel free to read (or not).
hello there, my dear self,
congratulations on finally outliving your own birth date! I'm so proud of you. I can't believe that you made it to this day, because looking back, what happened these past few months has been very, very rough on you.
you have been through a lot, and when I say a lot, I really mean it. this is one of the milestones of your life that you have succeeded in passing. remember the last four months in 2023? yes, those "-ber" months were out of your mind, right? I can understand that. I understand how you first reacted to that, how anger got the best out of you, how you struggled to overcome it, how you barely saw something good in life to the point that being dead sounded way better than being alive, yeah it was horrible. I can still feel it even up until now.
but there's nothing more grateful than seeing how you've gotten it over, that you have made yourself this far. thank you for not giving up, for the never-ending hopes you've built, and for all the support you have received.
I'm glad that I can see you reaching the last stage of grief that you've been through, without losing yourself, in fact, you've gained more than you ever knew. I'm so happy for you. and with that, I'd like to remind you: you have me—yourself, the one who will never ever abandon you, the one who will always stay by your side, the one who will never stop supporting and loving you. thus, you can still do whatever you want, you can still reach whatever you dream, and you can still love whoever you please.
don't give your dream up. heads up, champ! let's do this together!
yours,
h.a ♡
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muddled march
I wanted you to meet my cat,
you presented me your mother.
I wanted to build my own home,
you told me about diaspora lives.
I wanted to step on my steps in jeopardy,
you saved me a safe seat in the back.
I've always thought that this is a getaway car,
but I learned that you love risky trips.
so tell me again, canım,
will it happen overnight?
or will it be out of sight?
your mind might be in the light,
but mine is never right.
broken souls can't be healed with words,
your lifeful laugh deserves the world,
in an exquisite place that's reserved,
doubtlessly not for the absurd.
confusion is the only guy I've known,
from the first day you entered the zone,
mixed feelings are what you've shown,
was it you or me who is not fully grown?
but giving up isn't your forte,
even as hurdles coming in the way,
you repulse to back down, not a day,
and I am lost again in obscurity of why to stay.
yet comes again the parody,
and the vagueness in clarity.
people call me hana,
but you prefer honey.
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to the man—whose birthday is today
if you could hear confusion,
I can answer, that's me,
if you could see hesitation,
I will respond, that's me.
my skies were raining heavily,
your presence hovers like a rainbow,
to think that it was momentarily,
it turns out that I just didn't know.
I'm a broken book with lost pages,
but you pick up brand-new papers,
trying to stitch up novel phases,
convincing that a start is full of flavors.
trust is a ruined thing I know of a man,
and tears have since been my best friend,
my world shattered, not even my plan,
my steps stopped, it all just ended.
you revealed a picturesque entity,
pictured on the Maiden's Castle,
sending some untouchable serenity,
in my heart with an endless battle.
flying to Mersin, your homeland,
visiting the old Mediterranean site,
you would never let go of my hand,
when you know I'm just a dark night.
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your legacy
there were lots of times we spent,
there were many smiles we shared,
I would call them nothing but present,
that became part of me, declared.
from October to September,
from the seashore to the station,
from being a lover to getting him over,
from a creation to a separation.
I cherish the goodness of them,
hoping that laughs are what is left of you,
but what happened is something I condemn,
and I can't erase this part of me too.
my tears, my screams, my sleepless nights,
my rages, my dullness, my jealousy,
can't be burned down with the dead lights,
and they, too, unfortunately, become your legacy.
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the profound path
traveling to the other side of the world,
costing an arm and a leg won't matter,
with wide paths are now unfurled,
their hands will stay intertwined altogether.
as the wheels land on the foreign ground,
and the cold temperature slaps hard,
the crescent moon flag is all around,
as if it greeted with warm regards.
light steps are heard along the shops,
making their way amidst the crowd,
heartbeat skips, time merely stops,
once their pairs of eyes are locked.
“you are real,” he whispers,
she buries her face in his shoulder,
“and so are you.”
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jumbled january
(this post should have been posted in january, but anyway)
commencing isn't what one is good at,
though it's still happening like it or not,
pages turned nothing is left or caught,
it's a january greeting that's all fought.
should a start always be bright?
what if one begins with fright?
fighting for what is said is right,
far, far away in the land of kites,
not a single soul has peaceful nights.
in the land of green olive trees,
people leaving homes with their keys,
bewildered eyes with bleeding knees,
greeted by nothing but cold freeze,
but strong souls reflect the calming sea.
they whose parents were unlived,
facing the world as a little child,
know nothing but to survive,
life teaches so they will be revived,
to live in the soil they strived.
may their steps be at ease,
running down the shore as they please,
bowing down to earth with peace,
smiles welcomed by an evening breeze,
to finally say, "alhamdulillah, we are free."
--
fn: I dedicated this post to the people of palestine, for their steadfastness, patience, and resistance. I hope someday you live with freedom, dignity, and equal rights in your own homeland that's still being stolen. from the river to the sea, palestine will be free!
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foolish february
hunting down the four-month death,
for something worth nothing but tears,
supposed to be walking down the path,
yet I climbed on the deadly stairs.
once again?
what to feel safe? how to feel safe?
is it serenity in me or in the room?
in this small city, similar to a cave,
I die one more time in my own tomb.
asking myself why nothing stopped me,
slipped away in front of my eyes,
asking myself why foolishness got the best of me,
pretending to recolor my dark skies.
he whose presence brings streams to her orbs,
nonchalantly walks in with confidence,
opening all the broken rusted doors,
who is the fool when it comes to tolerance?
shouldn't have done it,
realized it too late,
when it was crystal clear,
and she's the fool to blame,
she lost herself in her own universe,
after tasting his soft, full-of-lies lips.
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[short story #2.2]
The answer got him shocked, nothing could top that. As if he was struck by the lighting, he remained silent. He then moved his hand on top of hers, which she didn’t budge. He thought that maybe a small touch would make her feel better even though it clearly didn’t. He didn’t deny anything since whatever just came out of her mouth was true.
“I’m sorry,” he finally replied. “For not being a good husband.”
She let out a sigh, thinking that this was the end of their marriage.
“But I’m begging,” he continued, “please don’t leave me, stay with me.”
That answer was completely not what she expected. She tilted her head to him.
“I may not be the best husband nor the best father for our son. But I want you to stay with me. I could never be like me today without you,” he stopped for a while to gaze her into her eyes deeply. “You’re an amazing person, you’re smart, you’re brave, you’re always the first person I look up. You’re the only person who always understands me, listens to me, and I want to continue my life only with you.”
She really wanted to cry upon hearing that. That was probably the first time her husband praised her after such long time.
“Please stay, my dear,” he continued. “I’m asking you one more time; please stay with me.”
She looked away, letting his hand go before getting off her seat. He also got off and quickly ran to the door. “I’m not letting you go.”
Instead of going to the front door, she made her way back to her room. He followed. There was a big packed bag on the floor next to the bed. She took a seat on the bed and began unpacking the bag with no words.
He helped her in unpacking her clothes off the bag. He stopped when he spotted a pair of leather shoes he was quite familiar. She quickly grabbed them and tried to hide them.
“Isn’t that Aksha’s?”
She let out a sigh. “Yes. He used to love these shoes so much,” she reminisced. “He was only seven back then when we were still living in England. Most of his friends wore a brand new pair of shoes and he came to me and asked me to get a new pair for him since his old shoes were ripped off. I told him we didn’t have much money to buy new shoes but I promised to get him as soon as I could. So I worked twice harder, I took double parts in school for the next three weeks. And I finally collected enough money,” she brushed the old shoes with her thumbs lovingly.
“When I brought them to him, I swear I had never seen him that delighted before,” she quickly wiped the sudden tears off her eye. “This is his only belonging that I kept since it’s his favorite thing. Sometimes I feel like he would come home and I could hear his excited steps from the front door. I feel like he’s always close to me in these shoes.”
He didn’t react, not knowing such story before. He had always been that father who taught his son lessons and skills, spent spare time together, but his Aleksandr never asked him to buy him anything. The little one always asked his mother. But one thing he finally knew, even after two years of the tragic death of his son, his wife hadn’t moved on yet. She was still haunted by his presence and that made him feel really bad.
He wrapped his arms around her to hug her. “My dear,” he whispered. “Things must have been very horrible with you, I’m sorry,” he patted her back. “But life must go on and you still have me. There are a lot of amazing places we haven’t seen yet, my dear, would you like to go out exploring the city with me, only you and me, like we always did back then?”
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[short story #2.1]
“Where are you going?”
There was nothing scarier for her than the voice that came out of his mouth. The scene was no different with a cat finally catching a mouse. She had just gotten herself ready, even carrying the shoulder bag. The husband still held the doorknob at the time. His face showed confusion, making her avert the gaze.
“Where are you going?” he repeated, still in the same tone.
“I want to go home,” she finally replied, eyes looking down on her feet as if not wanting to utter any more words. “No, I want a divorce,” using all of her strength, she looked up.
Those eyebrows of his were knitted. “I’m sorry?”
“You’ve heard.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” he let out a forced chuckle, hoping the answer he just heard was only a joke.
She remained silent.
Realizing his wife didn’t budge, he knew something was up. He closed the door, his face turned as serious as hers.
“Let’s talk it out,” he tried to catch her elbow which she responded by moving an inch away. He noticed that. “What’s going on, my dear? Come sit down, please.” He lowered his voice down as he took a seat on the sofa.
She might have told herself to stay ignorant earlier but hearing his soft voice broke her defenses. She took a seat next to him, still averting an eye contact.
There was a silent, almost one minute passed.
“Why do you still want me here?” she broke the silence.
“What?” her question sounded rather ridiculous to him.
“Why do you still want me here?” she looked up, turning her flat yet fierce look as she could.
“Because you’re my wife?” he wasn’t sure if that was the answer she expected.
She sighed softly which indicated that that was definitely not the answer she expected.
“I think we both can agree to one thing that I’m no longer the person you need here,” she continued. “You have someone else who’s way more than me in everything. She’s beautiful, a French. She can dance, sing, play instruments. She definitely could give you five more children--”
“Are we now talking about Nessie?” he interrupted, sounding a tad offended as he thought this was not the issue she would bring up.
“You even call her Nessie,” she cut off. “Yes, we are talking about her now, what else did you expect?” she looked away. “I’m suffering illness, I’m not as beautiful as her, heck, I get uglier by day. I’m not as talented as her, I can’t do any plays or instruments. I could only give you a son who ended up died,” she sounded very, very sad. “I’m just a school teacher. My son died of fever and my husband fell in love with a younger woman. My life is over, nobody needs my presence anymore so why do you still want me here?”
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[short story #1]
It was the next day after the flee of her husband, which was the same day she saw her child getting tired of crying in the authorities. Now the little one was sitting on her lap, scooping the mashed potatoes she cooked an hour earlier with his tiny wobbly hand.
She caressed his locks, combing them down the way they used to be. Her free hand kept holding him steady.
She found herself wondering,
“We’re sorry for being such horrible parents, son. I’m sorry that you had to witness all of this. But we’re grateful that you’ve chosen us as parents. You’re a sunshine, a bright kid. You could’ve been born in a small young family, somewhere living in the East. You would have been taught to go fishing, hiking, cycling, and doing hobbies you like. But instead you’re here with us, with your mother who’s old enough to be your grandmother and your father with his endless escape plan. I’m so sorry,” She planted a soft kiss on top of his head. “I promise I won’t let any bad things happen to you again, I won’t let them hurt you anymore. You’ll be happy as you should be.”
She hugged the little body more tightly, only to be stopped by an adorable burp coming out of her son’s mouth.
“Mama, I’m done.”
She quickly wiped her tears away, “look who’s just finished his breakfast. Let’s bathe you, shall we?”
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