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.
A golden watch alarms at 9 am,
A nostalgic scent haunts my bedroom,
“What happened to her?” I repeatedly ask myself.
She lost her memory,
She lost her life,
She lost track of time,
She lost herself.
He burnt his chest as much as he could,
He burnt his sorrows,
He burnt his lips.
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.
She wrote her poetry using her grandfather’s broken typewriter, black ink spelled on her knees.
Shattered glasses, scattered thoughts, life can be memorized no more.
— Lala Tevfik