poems of sorrow

A million words won’t bring you back,
I know because I tried.
Neither would a million tears,
I know because I cried.

This angel of sorrow damned
To fall when she should soar.
Watch the way her eyes flicker
With flames of defeat
As her singed and broken wings
Cannot even lift her a scant few feet.
Her tears turn to shards of glass
Littering every step she takes
Leaving a trail of glittering sadness
Beautifully damaged in her wake.
She has learned to dance
With the demons on the ground
While her feet are cold and bleeding
From the shattered glass strewn all around.
She twirls into the madness
Gets lost amid the fray
Voicelessly she whispers
Of long forgotten yesterdays.
What is she to do
With wings too heavy to fly?
Wishing each and every moment
Was the one she took to the sky.
This scarred and weary angel
How she longs to dance on the wind
And take to higher places
Her sorrow cannot find her within.

© Courtney Turley 2016

As if when you cross my mind,
you walk on my flesh,
my chest burns with your slow steps,
your eyes fill me with promises,
and with each promise
the edge of your blade slides across my life vein.
You are so close to my eyes,
farther away than distance can reach.
I knew then: It was impossible to reach you.
My call for you was useless.
I fell sick.
I saw you get away from me,
and your eyes still call me.
You went far,
you went far,
became a distant horizon.
—  Tayseer Al-Sboul, “The Dream,” Desert Sorrows: Poems by Tayseer al-Sboul. transl. by Nesreen Akhtarkhavari and Anthony A. Lee (Michigan State University Press, 2015)

You think you’ve seen her naked because she took her clothes off?
You’ve kissed her lips, and you’ve climbed inside her.
Somehow you think that’s enough to know her…

Tell me about her nightmares?
The ones that have her twitching next to you as you snore on, oblivious.

Look down at your unblemished hands and tell me how many times you’ve cut yourself on the pieces of her broken heart.

Tell me why she paints,
Why she writes,
Why she takes long baths.

Tell me about her life, her childhood.
Tell me about the first man who broke her heart.
Tell me about her father and her brother.
Tell me about her demons, and her fears.
Tell me about her insecurities and the conversations she has with herself.

Tell me about everything she wants from life.
Tell me all the tiny little things she’s wished upon a star for.
Tell me why her favorite city is her favorite city.
Tell me why she flinches, ever so slightly, when you call her beautiful.

Tell me all the little things you hate about her, and I’ll tell you why I love them.
Tell me about her darkness, and I’ll tell you about her light.
No my friend, you may have seen her body, but you have still yet to see her naked.

“In life, one day is for you and the other is against you.” -Imam Ali (a)

If these days have been against you, find your heart. Find what state it is in. Find what saddens your heart and what brings it joy. Know the fuel of your happiness and sorrow. For if your happiness is reliant on something that is temporary, sadness will soon follow. But if it is reliant on something permanent, sorrow will be a gift and not a burden. I knew a woman, who placed her trust in God and never knew of anything else. She had patience through struggle, she had wealth in poverty, she had courage when others deemed to be afraid. This woman, who surrendered herself to her Lord in times of ease and hardship, witnessed the murder of her brothers, her family, and yet still uttered the words, “O’ Lord, take until you are satisfied.” And yes, let us be like her. For when sorrow does honor us with its presence, we too can tell Allah (swt), “take until you are satisfied.” Surely sorrow may ridicule our joy, but there are more lessons to be learned in times of loss than gain. Because what we have lost, was never ours to attain.

السلام عليك يا زينب الكبرى

There is both dormant rage and repressed grief in my chest, i can feel the barrier between the two starting to crumble and i greatly fear what acts i shall commit when they both erupt and collide.
—  ina-n-aonar
Sea - Timothae

It is the love that is drowning

To the sea of darkness

Deeper and deeper

It is sinking

Searching and seeking for some air

It is I who is drowning

To the sea of my own tears

To the sea of my own sadness

Help!

Save me!

Let me live!

Don’t let me sink…

For I want to dive into another sea

To the sea of colors

Colors, happiness and rainbows

Where i can be happy

Where i can find peace

Where i can find love

Where i can find you

Let me live with you

Let darkness find its light

For it is light that darkness needs

It is peace that sorrow needs

For it is you that i need.

Πάνε οχτώ μέρες

Πάνε τώρα οχτώ μέρες που έχω να σε δω. Οχτώ μέρες έχω να σε δω και εφτά να σε ακούσω. Ίσως, να μην ακούγονται αρκετές για θλίψη, σίγουρα όμως είναι αρκετές για πόνο.
Εχθές έκλαψα…παλι. Την πρώτη μέρα λένε πως κλαις από αγάπη, τις επόμενες από συνήθεια. Ήσουν, όμως, η αγαπημένη μου συνήθεια.
Ξέρεις, δεν είναι ότι προσπάθησα να σε αλλάξω, δεν είναι ότι δεν καταλαβαίνω, είναι όμως που άλλαξες εσύ. Άλλαξες χωρίς να με πάρεις μαζί σου.
Σήμερα είπα, δε θα δακρυσω. Αλλά όταν βραδιάσει και δεν έχω έστω ένα “τί κάνεις;”, θα βυθιστώ. Θα βουλιαξω σε ένα χώμα, που δεν εσκαψες ποτέ για να αναπνεύσω.