Farasha Sagheira

I always dream to walk in fields of sunflowers, their heads bobbing and greeting me like royalty. I want my senses to be assaulted by the smell of orange grooves and my mouth tasting globes of grapes, its purple juices leaving its trace at the tips of my tongue. I want to smell the earth after the rain, its cultivated soil the home of truffles, wheat and herbs.

Escapism clamors in my blood, signaling that the time is ripe where I could bury my spirit in freedom. I onced asked you to come with me to Tuscany after we made love. It was dark and I could only gaze at your silhouette and feel your three day stubble grazing my back. I asked that we run away from all of these, from the tyranny of selfishness, from the world inhabited by humans obsessed of money and power. You laughed sofly, planting small kisses in my shoulders and resting your chin in my head. You laughed at my idealism and simple dreams, and with a sigh you carefully lined up your ideals, your wants, not your needs. You are the same as most of them. You want to carve your niche in a city that breaths superficiality. You patiently smiled as you listen to my dreams of utopia, of love and poetry, of having heaven in the palm of our hands, the celestial wonders of a simple life. You asked if I would be happy picking olives for a living. I asked back if you will be happy in a yacht with women full of fake breasts. You laughed heartily, pulling me to face you, devouring me with your mouth, lenght and long fingers.

I got up and buttoned my jeans, you fetching my sandals in the other side of the bed, kneeling in front of me to fit them on my feet. That moment, I loved you then. You look at me softly and we sat at the edge of the bed, saying nothing. Our hands clasped together and you bring mine to your lips, gently kissing the bones of my knuckles, one at a time

I placed a chaste kiss in your forehead and walked out.

Barcelona

You and I, we drift apart as dreams fade in our subconscious. For some uncanny reasons, we always find reasons to abhor and despise each other but like conjoined twins we never, cannot break apart. You always see me as someone uncapable of self honesty, my words and confessions laced with beautiful lies, like sonnets written by a street poet drunk by apathy and loathing.

Yet amidst the brokeness and the crooked parts that was me, you've witnessed the vulnerability and by that sheer knowledge, the crooked parts doesn't mean a thing when you've found someone to wreck and be pretty with. Whilst I speak my lies very close to your lips, fresh realisations dawned to me and acknowledge that you are the first person to sift through my wreckage and dust off the jaded years, who deciphered my battle cries which I carefully close and never to divulge. You see the intensity of my madness that lurks in the dark alleys and mazes of my mind.

For some known reasons not to ourselves, there are now miles between us, a distance that became familiar and yet--uncomfortable. I would like to remember you as words I can put into phrases, words that could cut me and made me whole, words so beautifully strung together like symphonies and echoing chimes in my darkest hour.

Bathroom Diaries

cascade of fluid
amid the fog on a white tiled wall
blowing steam
disrobing gently
seeing the reflection for the first time
imprints of non perfection
tawny skinned
smoothness and freckled
like stardust left to scatter in abandon
feather touching
on the pubescent line
a rush of velvet
not long after
the silk on skin
replaced by angry welts
bruised and rogue...