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Some people would wish for a good day to come, a moment of nirvana to surround them with peace and security – from all the burdens and all calamities. But some wouldn’t, as those days represent nothing but despair and frustration in the end, for them, good days are nothing but a gloat at all their fears and traumas, for them it doesn’t last long, hence, better absence than short visits.
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A raven in the crib, long has been petrified, longed for a witness, a cure and a tender breath to approach it, hence, lift the curse upon it perpetually. Some creatures were born to linger nowhere but graves, their timeline is short and the pain they leave behind lasts long, all the fragments those who loved them have are just evidences, evidences of their existence that didn’t extend much.
Utters none, the wounding soul,
through the plights long shall it lingers,
pleading for mercy to cover her cold neck like a shawl,
to remove her sore feet from the mud,
and to rest her on the shore, so that her fears wash away and all whimpers…
“Elif! Are you okay? I’m sorry, I really am, please, respond to me!”
