A Written Portrait of Oneself

“I have watched the skies go blue,

I have watched the clouds go blind,

I have watch the raindrops purify souls,

I have watched our sinful bodies reflected on them washed buildings, on them washed streets, 

I have watched passion,

I have watched madness,

I have watched oblivion,

I have watched hell and heaven,

I have watched wars, but never peace. 

I have watched.”

She was not a writer, she just documented her thoughts, and you know she just wrote.

She was not a photographer, she was trying to capture beauty, or at least what she thought was beauty.

“It is quite interesting how what we write and what we capture reflects our thoughts and maybe our beliefs.”

She wrote six hours a day, painted her scattered thoughts when she couldn’t write,

“Blocks are the devil’s bastards” she has always said.

She wore black lace, red lipstick, with her retro hair-style.

She smoked cigarettes, drank coffee, slept four hours a day.

She listened to Jazz, Blues, and Classic Rock, sometimes Folk Rock.

She memorized Bukowski’s poems, memorized Cohen’s songs.

She drew portraits of herself, how she saw herself.

— Lala Tevfik

The Affair In Books

We lied on bed, messy sheets, torn pillows.

He wore nothing but his skin,

I wore nothing but his skin,

We spoke silently,

He lit his cigarette with a match,

I drank my glass of wine,

He read his book and I read mine.

— Lala Tevfik

Mad drunk writers and their typewriters.

— Lala Tevfik