As I recall it was a cold Saturday night,
You were drunk and watching a match,
I gave you my back and wrote to her,
You did not notice my new silk gown,
Not until you spilled your beer on my back.
— Lala Tevfik
It was almost midnight,
You heard a terrible sound,
You stood behind a silk curtain,
You glimpsed a spirit running,
You rushed to a bedroom,
You laid on a Persian carpet,
Your father is not a believer,
Your mother curses the church,
You crawl under a couch,
You tie your hair down,
You loose your papers up,
Your glass does not touch your lips,
Your thighs are bruised,
Your body aches for new crushed pencils,
Your love is a myth in your old father’s torn boots,
Your agony is a dust in an old cup of coffee,
You can’t recall what you lost,
You speak silently,
You write loudly,
You stroke truths,
You comfort lies,
You struggle with beauty as beauty struggles with you.
It was almost midnight,
And you came back with a prisoner of your own.
— Lala Tevfik
Dearest,
“One can only kiss your lips in silence” I thought to myself while typing roughly.
In days like this, I stand, barefoot, in my balcony, not desiring you laying next to me on the grass.
I listen to Thelenious Monk, I picture my books falling, but they never reach the ground, and for moments, I only wish to speak of my imaginations.
— Lala Tevfik