There is a hidden wound in my heart, just like a secret stuck inside of me. And I have to deal with it silently on my own, I have to hide the huge disappointment from love, the recession of my feelings beyond reality and imagination, the fire of possession, the female jealousy, and the blade of wishes.
Alone I have to catch my orphan’s tears and leave you at night when you’re not afraid of my departure anymore. When life assassinates our love, or even when our time, that is stolen from our fates, is wasted.
Alone I’ll cope with the cold nights, the sound of our daring past, and your fiery face on top of my soul’s frost.
Here I am, still here, knowing which pain is waiting for me, and alone I have to handle the love we have lived once and carry it to my temporary death, along with my heart’s loot, under the shadow of night, where the sound is disappointedly travelling to nowhere.
And alone I have to carry what you have left me with, the tears that never dry, the jealousy that couldn’t be aborted by anything, the ache that doesn’t seem to regress and a curse that is never going to end… never going to end.

Farah Alhawija

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