A Wistful Desire

by Âlâ Tevfik

In the corner, their stands a white wooden floral designed dresser, it’s where I abandoned my 50’s red gown, next to it, still a life vintage suitcase, where I forgot my grandma’s wig.

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A golden watch alarms at 9 am,

A nostalgic scent haunts my bedroom,

“What happened to her?” I repeatedly ask myself.

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She lost her memory,

She lost her life,

She lost track of time,

She lost herself.

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He burnt his chest as much as he could,

He burnt his sorrows,

He burnt his lips.

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An image photographed in sepia hanged on the wall, a crack where he banged his head, houses built of wood, houses drowned in roaring seas.

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She wrote her poetry using her grandfather’s broken typewriter, black ink spelled on her knees.

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Shattered glasses, scattered thoughts, life can be memorized no more.

— Lala Tevfik

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