Lala Tevfik

My Own Phases With Words


Forgive me, I haven’t been able to write,

Not that I’m busy, my mind is too crowded,

But I have a desire to compose,

Nothing musical,

But poetically symphonic.

I have been wondering, dearest.

Though, I know, one can never sense wonders most of the time.

I have been wondering,

How have you been?

Sometimes, I walk in lonely corridors, and I stop for a minute or so, your voice echoes through them empty walls, have I missed you this much?

— Lala Tevfik



Times, have I tried reaching you,
Weaving through space,
A touch.

You’re a crossroad,
In between,
Universes apart,
Endless seconds apart.

— Lala Tevfik

Wednesday Morning

We could be diving in a thin air,
Thinner than a wave.
Held still in a room, a room of four straight walls, yet it feels circular.

From my machine with affection,
For love is spiritual,
And spirituality weaves through us not.

From my machine with warmth,
Press them buttons, to form some kind of poetry.
Them words, haunt my machine,
Try to cast them out, press more words,
It’s a never ending dream,

Could that be, one’s true reality?
What’s “reality”?
Nothing but an imaginarium.

I address them parallel universes,
Would you shelter a poet?

For a while,
Allow me to wonder!
Is it my right? To call myself a poet?
Nothing less,
Nothing more,
A poet.

— Lala Tevfik