There have been poems and there have been not. Few are lovelorn and others are in pain. But none are comprehensible. In the lamp light, there is no poem I want to love, there is nothing I ever want to love. Love has made me a weak woman and I’m loathing its presence for stripping me of my words , and my light. Oh how often love throws me in this hell. And how often I come out of it only to be seduced again. In the lamp light, writing poetry about love, but out of pain, I only want to belong to myself.
– Journal, In The Lamp Light Love and Pain Are The Same by Thamanna Razak