The crowing of the rooster
This morning
Dragged me backward
To days when I was a visitor here,
Not a resident,
When going home
Was still a right,
Not an impossible wish.
What hits me:
It’s all a memory,
A distant, flickering image.
Your figure bears no soul;
Your presence was erased,
Crossed out
From the book of the living.
No more of you,
No more of me.
The closet of my happy world—
The walls do remember
My whispered secrets.
Each corner
Wrapped me in warmth,
Witnessed my ups and downs.
Every room that echoed
With our laughter
Is now playing
A tragic melody
For my sunken Titanic,
Buried deep in ashes,
In the remnants of a frozen past.
Getting used to your absence—
Then a flicker of memory:
A scent,
A sound,
Stirs my tranquil mind,
Puts my heart on fire
To live your loss
All over again.
Were they lying when saying,
“You’ll get over it!
A matter of time, and you’ll forget”?
What if I couldn’t forget,
Couldn’t escape the ache of remembrance,
Nor flee this fate
Of being homesick,
Whose thirst
Can’t be quenched,
Whose sickness
Has no cure.
Image courtesy of Rawan Elkhaldi
February 7, 2026
Farah Elbahnasawi
