Taifas Literary Magazine No. 12, June, 2021

18
Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 12, June, 2021
Malak Nora Hammadi
Algeria
*quiet moment*
I wish I could escape from all the hustle and
bustle.
How precious is a moment of calm to seize and
celebrate with myself my loneliness.. this
period I prefer the dimensions of my room, it
is enough for me
To create a world of truth far from the false
world
On my small table
inhabits a lot of
texts..these texts are
scattered here and
there..like cold days with
incomplete ideas..
Since when did the
warmth escape from
between my lines.. he ran
away without telling me..
or is this my choice?
In the corners of the room
a lot of crazy ghosts roam..
They steal any idea that flies in the space of the
room.
I do not deny that they share sorrows with me..
they share this boring absence.. when will you
return?
Here in this small corner..I exercise absolute
freedom..free from subordination to the laws
of mankind..free from the constraints of
customs
At this moment I want to be stripped of my
soul and everything that connects me with
life.. to be unknown.. completely forgotten..
Without an identity... to erase my name from
existence...
If I could restrict my feelings and feelings
within these dimensions.. but she struggles,
packs nostalgia in a suitcase and travels
against my will.. with flocks of birds on a
journey of death
Open the door of the memory cupboard.. the
wet messages fall out of it waiting for me to
open them, but curiosity about me took a
vacation for a while and can't come back..
I just want to lie on my
couch and stare at the
ceiling.
This couch smells like the
dead.
I try to take a deep
breath..but I can't..maybe
the room air is not
enough..or the oxygen has
left it..from a hole
What he's going through..
but I have to breathe to feel my presence
Just for a moment.. and then I don't mind
receiving death
Like any person who lived and then died.. not
to practice death while I am alive
I open the window and the sound of the wind
attacks me.. the sound of the wind hurts me.. a
longing burns me.. and kills me with longing..
it carries with it the voice of the absent.. I come
back in a hurry to close myself on it..
I'm breathing slowly..with difficulty..I don't
have full awareness
Darkness sneaks into my features..we blend
and become one piece..close my eyes..and
practice my daily coma..
ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198
TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE