Half-opened window,
and my half-opened eyes,
shadows swayed to an unfamiliar rhythm.
Hushed movements, restless haste—
filled the silence behind the unseen.
My senses sharpened to their edge,
my ears pricked like a cat’s.
My eyes opened to their very limit.
Yet it revealed nothing—
I screamed,
It didn’t respond!
At last, it released gentle air,
a fragile peace among shatters.
It stripped me of my agony,
washing my weary face with cool, shaking waves.
My lips trembled into
a hesitant half-smile,
as relief started to creep
Inside the half-lit corridors of my heart.
Then—
A blaze.
A ruthless fire,
Its flames raged from the hidden side,
burning my heart before the earth.
O gentle air,
why did your tender waves not cradle the smoke,
bind my wrists with chains of false hope,
soothe my wounds with blackened ashes?
How did I ever offer my trust—
even fractured, even half—
to such a thing?
An impossible wish,
a broken promise,
born from a half-opened frame.
World of Halves by Farah Elbahnasawi
6 June 2026
Artwork by Rima Elbahnasawi
