#elen fohere

[foherepoetry]

Too young to know how to live

7 May 2019, 23:44

Time weights me down,

all the lives I haven’t lived.

The future moments press

its pointy fingers on my cheeks.

You own a life that has not

been lived yet.

You are so young, you haven’t

lived enough to know.

There is a whole future

for you out there.

I reiterate, and say you

have a future ahead.

It is true, I do not know what

lays on this long street.

But I drive

without a driver’s license,

the wheels keep turning,

like the needles of the clock.

Remember the clock that

hanged in your classroom wall?

It doesn’t tick anymore.

Has time stopped then?

Maybe that is why you’ve

stopped living too.

Your infancy is frozen in

the past,

where is the key to that lock?

Why can’t I go back to the

moments I was a child?

My memories are build up

from photographs.

So, what are the real memories

that I remember living?

All that I did before now,

might be forgotten one day.

And forgotten is lost,

forgotten means it didn’t happen.

why can’t I remember forgotten things?

My life, my life, my life.

What am I saying,

I’m too young to have lived a life.

So what is this mass of moments

pooling in my hands?

Is this not a life?

No! you are to young!

Then what is it?

Wasted time!

Why is it wasted time?

It is wasted time, ‘cause

you don’t remember it.

-Elen Fohere

[foherepoetry]

Death of a world, people

15 April 2019, 00:54

.

Sometimes we dance

with our hands tied behind our backs,

a thought in our minds that say:

grooving is all about the feet, the hips.

.

And sometimes we dream of the sky,

while our wings get clipped by fears,

a voice pronouncing: root your dreams to the earth.

.

And sometimes we close our eyes

and see what our world ought to be,

wishing someone did something

about the mess we’ve created.

.

Sometimes at family dinners, or friendly gatherings,

our mouths condemn society about

its unhealthy ways in personality and nature.

We do not realize that we are that same hateful society we talk about,

like talking about friends behind their backs.

.

We say our planet is dying,

but what we don’t say it that we are dying with it.

We look into our babies’ soft sleeping faces,

hoping they’ll do better that we did.

.

We are not even trying.

We are not even trying

to unclip our wings and sore to the skies,

We are not even trying

to untied our hands,

too busy gazing into each other’s eyes.

We are not even trying

to see the world as it is,

we build our buildings, our schools and our parks.

yet we forget our wild forests and grasslands.

We mistake our deserts for desserts.

We are not even trying.

.

I’m not even trying,

to make everything better,

to cure my rotting disease of aboulia.

.

And so, I take that golden glass with pouring wine,

and wait for the stars to fall on my head.

—Elen Fohere

[foherepoetry]

Late at night

3 January 2018, 20:45

I could see the lights flicker in your eyes,

just like the stars do in the sky.

I wish I could look into your eyes forever,

because late at night

when I’m laying on my bed

staring at the ceiling

I can’t help but wish

I could see the stars.

-Elen Fohere