Poems by Fatime Kulli ( Albania)

 fatime 1

Poems by Fatime Kulli ( Albania)

 

 

The crashed moon…

 

On August of the wild flame

I squeeze broken colors…

Shadow’s tranquility makes me tremble

Hanged on the day fingers.

I gather the sun flakes

A water-flower whisper.

 

The air cord gets cut off

On the eye of pain…

In the glade of tears

I eat the weight of the remaining breath…

 

I feel the breath of shadow

It drinks the air of my song

And ignites me

Cutting the veins

Of the broken moon…

The sky has gone wild

At the disfavor of fruits

The Earth-cave

Strawberries.

 

I follow the steps of shadow

It touches my bones

Troubled ones…

The leafs of softness

Make plants flourish

At the steps of the rock

That makes the N-I-G-H-T-M-A-R-E flow…

 

 

My white despar

 

They humiliate me, they call me “quean”

They draw my portrait with a paintbrush of nail,

They spot me like the black sheep separated from the herd…

And accuse me for writing avant-garde poetries,

What should I do, that my poetry is what feeds the soul

Not only for me, but also for women with childish smiles,

That read my poetries secretly from their men

Like “The apple of sin” cause of the disgusting moral,

That triumphs across the crowd as an honest one.

But what should I do, that my sinful poetries

Scare even the shepherd,

Who after reading these poetries with thirsty hunger,

Runs with his stick in hands to punish me…!

 

The disgusting moral tries to rip out my veins of feeling

To kill my poetic spirit, to change its destination, colours…

But I’m not afraid of him, I write screaming,

I tack in every verse cell, like a bloody flower

For love, for the woman’s eyes crying, wounded,

For the tired soul, exhausted from the desecration of morality.

 

The angry notes of the preachy crowd tremble,

My fingers dive in the metaphors of life,

Where the membranes take fire in the verse of poetry…

The voice of God, tells me: there is life in darkness,

There is hope in the desert, light in the blindness,

Spirit of love, there is balance in the universe,

Even the wounded sounds pulse in deafness…

My white, strong despair doesn’t tremble

Even as they insult me, offend my morality…

I am a WOMAN, I keep writing poetries for love,

The one pure, attractive road that gives me life,

The soul scream that in front of the verse makes me die…!

 

 

Under acorbatic sounds

 

The breath gurgles with a poisonous taste

Through the narrow path of the sun

Covered with the snakeskin

Like a dreamer for the blooming of EGO…

 

The air spreads and becomes depressed

Under the sweet storm of deception

The forks keep chewing newsletters,

Nailing eyes strike the sunny ones…

 

The darkness has sharpened its claws,

Tearing the deaf dreams apart

The capillaries of mind

Wounded in their desire clash

Against the false grace…

 

I strive to escape the thorns

The walls of servility ambush me…

I live within the roots of wisdom

The forks dance under acrobatic sounds…

 

 

Storms

 

The Twenty-first century

Wanders orderly over the victims

Exploding

The blood drops flow like a river

On the world screens…

My motherly soul suffers…

Whispering the wailings and injustices…

I see even the worn sun

The candlesticks of the new human have been discolored

The shoulders of soul can’t bear the horror!

 

We see little snakes, large, greedy ones

Turning into vampires in front of humans…

The soles of feet with blood traces

Trample on the pain of thousand women around the world…

 

Shshtt, shshtt… shshtt….

Keeps murmuring the love

That has been silently killed…

The soul of women roars from the abyss:

Expunge the rancor, turn off the envy, extinguish the infidelity,

Bring the light to our eyes!

The scarf of love

Tie it around your soul, human,

Shine light in the space, and goodness for the humans!

 

Often they pray and beg in front of the icon:

St. Mary, pray for the lives of our children,

Heal this century of storms…

Punish the evil, the greed,

The sale of freedom of small nations!

Bless the peace for all people in this world…

 

 

LITERARY MAGAZINE ATUNIS NR.3 – 4 , MAY 2016
A PUBLICATION OF POETICAL GALAXY  “ ATUNIS”

 

 

Time Heals Everything / By Marjeta Shatro ( Albania )

Time Heals Everything

 

 

marjeta shatro

By Marjeta Shatro ( Albania )

 

 

It was 1910.A young couple were looking forward of having their child’s birth. A very beautiful girl was born, Teqe’s father named her after. Little Lisana was fragile white like snow, eyes like two small blue lakes, straight nose, full lips and brown straight long hair, with the passage  of time, she grew up very fast and according to the custom when she would be 14 years old she would marry and go to the husband virgin, intact with honour.

Many families required her hand but as her father had been many times over the continent, was looking for another case better than before and acceptable. The fate knocked on the door and Lisana was married to the only son of a rich-man who might have a lot of property. Two years later Lisana gave birth to a handsome baby boy but her happiness did not last more than six months because her husband got seriously sick and died.

Her life became bleak and very hard. Days passed by sadly, while she had to stay indoor where there was nothing except her breathing and crying of her baby. When the baby cried she got up and went to him as if like he would be kidnapped and he would break her only happiness that remained behind. Even her nights were getting more miserable, the edges of the windows did not reflect anymore the yellow light of the moon or even the flashes of the stars but prolix shadows that conquered the depth of her spirit.

Anxiety played with her uncertainty and it became more misleading for her mood. Her feelings didn’t lie, one morning she was told to take her stuff and leave for her parent’s house, but, whether it was possible for her to leave without her son. Her screams and cries were heard over the valley, they were so loud and painful as even the mountains were well-shocked.

The members of her husband’s family thought only about their wealth which belonged even to the young bride. To avoid this conflict according to the customs and the laws of that time they had to return the bride to her father and to keep the little child as a lawful heir and the only for their property. The fallout of the son from his mother made her enraged and turned her into an almost wild beast, to which you couldn’t stay near any more. Even though the common law punished her, she again was deep into her body and spirit to her son, who was grown up under the nanny parenting to her father’s house she stayed indoors and every night she sang sad songs. She was much worried and in any way she couldn’t find the peace.

The spring came with the blooming of the flowers and the garden opposite the house became more admirable. Her father advised her to go out and to walk more often because the fresh air and the whole green nature would be better for her and also for her health and it might heal her spirit’s wounds. Then the winter came and left slowly and the only footsteps remained were the whiteness still visible to the mountains peaks. April made the nature looks better and the birds’ chirping was heard all around. She looked as they were playing with each-other and unconsciously she forgot herself. She was too young and she had to be enjoyed the youth of her age. The pain slightly began to vanish and deep inside she felt at ease. The spring lightened her glumness and the sunlight refilled her sprit with excitement and so Nature restored her faith in life and revealed to her that time has the most healing impacts. Like the bees she ran through the flowers, made bouquets with them and ran around pastures. Lisana, seventeen years old, a widow and without her son it was impossible to not be noticed for her beauty, more so because of her parentage. Her fate seemed to be set and defined since the time she was born and grew up. Her second fate came two years later at the time when a swarthy strong boy passed by Lisana’s house. It seemed to him like a sylph and not a girl coming from the world of dreams. His heart was beating hard but when he thought of his fate as an orphan and without any property he was shaken and left like a shadow. Days passed while his mind remained there. He started to come by her house often and enjoyed her fascinating appearance. The boy was tall, swarthy, with dark eyes and hair. Even Lisana had noticed his presence and began to give sweet looks, signs and love expressions, the same as the scent of the roses grown in her garden. She felt pampered as his pure naive heart has come to beat strong. One May day the boy jumped the fence, met Lisana, shook her hands firmly and looked into her eyes and asked her to marry him. Lisana, excited and eyes with tears, told him her first fate and her first heartbreak, her son being taken, but the young boy knew everything and was touched greatly because her suffering shook him strongly in his chest and to get her protected from those strong winds which had brought so many storms and ruin to her life.

The young boy also told her about his parents’ fate of death and so convicted by their bad fate they had to raise over the pains of the past and build a good and new future. His only fortune was his physical strength and his big desire to live his life with her.

Lisana accepted and the young boy took her because her parents and time stopped her from marrying him.

Years passed slowly like the water source that never runs out while their family grew bigger with three sons and three daughters.

Even though the family seemed to live a normal life Lisana still thought about her first son.Her husband knew her concern and tried to calm and lighten her wounds which seemed to always be open.

After sixteen years her first son was free to decide his own life as the ancestors of his tribe had died. He learned the painful story of his separation from his mother and one September day when the sun was high in the sky he jumped the fence or stepped into the door, that banned door and that border broken by the illusion of time, and stepped into the garden’s house.

Lisana saw her son and recognised him immediately and half of the water she carried spilled onto the ground.

Her son rushed and took his mother by her hand to prevent her falling down.

“Mother, have you really thought through the years how we have been separated?”

She hugged him strongly and with tears of joy said: “Time heals everything.”

 

LITERARY MAGAZINE ATUNIS NR.3 – 4 , MAY 2016
A PUBLICATION OF POETICAL GALAXY  “ ATUNIS”

 

 

EDITORIAL : A Brand New Rose in the Garden of Albanian Literary Universe / LITERARY MAGAZINE ATUNIS NR.3 – 4 , MAY 2016 – A PUBLICATION OF POETICAL GALAXY “ ATUNIS”

  EDITORIAL   A Brand New Rose in the Garden of Albanian Literary Universe   Atunis Magazine comes as a prelude to sensations of contemporary Albanian art and embodies the values and individual literary work of poets, writers, translators and … Continue reading

Poezi nga Lumo Kolleshi

lumo kolleshi

Poezi nga Lumo Kolleshi

 

 

VEPRIME TE THJESHTA

 

Nuk flitet aspak për matematikë,

Fjala vjen, sa bëjnë një dhe një,

Urrejte plus urrejtje,

Më shumë se asgjë.

 

Ndaj ca veprime të thjeshta,

Kthyer më janë në filozofi,

Këpucët heq e ndërroj teshat,

Këmbët i laj pas kthimit në shtëpi.

 

Urrejtjen s’e qas kurrë në tavolinë,

Pjata për të gjithmonë mbetet bosh,

Dhe pse shpesh prej saj e brej mërzinë

E copra dinjiteti bëj t’i hedh në kosh.

 

Urrejtjes, te thana kufirin ia kam vënë,

Në porten time s’ di të shkelë kurrë.

Veç një gjë nuk rri dot pa e thënë:

Për këmbët pa kokë kurrizin s’ e bëj urë.

 

 

BURIM E DET

 

Më thua ti sot e përherë:

Burimi s’ ia shkrin dot detit kripësimin

Dhe unë të kthej tjetër monedhë:

Dhe deti s’ e krip dot kurrë burimin.

 

 

PASQYRA

 

Pasqyra në dhomën e gjumit mbetur jetime,

Gati në mijëra copa të thërmohet.

Shikon shpesh e me shpesh thinjën time,

Për pak të kuq buzësh përgjërohet.

 

 

AMNISTI

 

Po i marr vetëm për një çast,

Për një çast të vetëm,  kompetencën kryetarit të shtetit.

Nga sot,

Shpall amnisti për borxhllinjtë e mi.

Megjithatë e kam një kusht,

Si dimri borën në male:

Të mos i hedhin të sharat me përqindje në firmat piramidale.

 

CIKËL ME POEZI NGA JOSIF GEGPRIFTI

 

Josif Gegprifti

CIKËL ME POEZI NGA JOSIF GEGPRIFTI

 

 

DO MARR BUZËQESHJEN TËNDE…

 

Iku koha shpejt pa kuptuar,
një brengë në shpirt më rëndoi
të erdha me zemër të gëzuar,
me dhimbje në zemër po shkoj!

Po si do të mundem vallë,
të shkëputem nga krahët e tua,
nga puthjet e gjata plot zjarr,
nga sytë me ndriçim të kaltëruar?

Do iki me zemrën zjarr,
lotët do mbeten në buzët e tua,
me vështrimin tim do marr,
buzëqeshjen tënde që aq fort e dua!

 

 

DRITËS…

 

O Dritë
sa çudi,
vetmia iku larg
kur në sytë e mi u shfaqe ti!
Shkriu
bora në male,
pranvera me lule hodhi valle.
Kur erdhe ti
u zgjova prej gjumit letargjik
dhe ndjeva që jeta filloi përsëri.
Kur erdhe ti,
shpirti u mbush me dashuri.
Kur erdhe ti
Rilinda përsëri.

 

 

EMIGRANTI…

 

Të lashë qyteti im i dashur,
në moshën time të rinisë,
me dallgët e detit jam përplasur,
për të bërë një jetë më të mirë!

Të lashë edhe ty mikja ime,
e dhimbjen e ndjeva në shpirt,
në çdo agim zgjohem me kujtime,
dhe me shpresën për t’u takuar një ditë!

 

 

HESHTJE S’ KA.

 

Asnjëherë
S’kam bërë miqësi
Me heshtjen.
Merita
Është e jotja,
Që më ke dhurruar
Një kopësht të tërë
Me ndjenja të ëmbla dashurie.
Më ke dhurruar
Një varg poezie,
Një buzëqeshje dhe
Një vështrim.
Aty kam lundruar gjatë gjithë jetës.

Ëndërrime pafund,
Heshtje s’ka.

 

 

PUTHJA…

 

Ishte pranverë,
Vështrimet e tua
Më lidhën këmbë e duar.

Putha dy buzë
Dhe ndjeva burimin e frymëzimit
Të shpirtit tim.

Puthja
Ishte vargu i parë i një poezie,
Ëmbëlsia e asaj dashurie.

 

 

BIONDINËS…

 

Kam mall të shkoj dhe një herë,
Atje në të bukurën lëndinë,
Ish ditë e bukur, ish pranverë,
Kur e njoha vogëlushen biondinë.

Kur një lule asaj ja dhurrova,
Më buzëqeshi me shpirtin e gëzuar,
Në sytë e saj të kaltër dallova,
Dashurinë e dashurisë të lulëzuar.

E kam në sy dhe sot atë lëndinë,
Atje në mes një pylli të gjelbëruar,
Atje të shoh dhe ty moj biondinë,
Se shpirtin kam njësoj të dashuruar.

 

Vlorë prill 1976
(…e ripunuar)

 

 

KUJTIMET…

 

Eci në një rrugicë të errësuar,
Dhe në sy
Kam vetëm një dritare te ndriçuar.
Kujtimet e një kohë të largët,
I ndjej që rrëmbyeshëm pushtojnë trupin tim,
Ashtu si gjethet pushtojnë degët e një peme.
Ah këto kujtime të bukura
Që ma mbushin me dritë shpirtin tim,
Se pjesa tjetër e tij është bosh,
Monotoni,pa emocione,pa jetë.

Ashtu si një verë e dashur,
Edhe kujtimet
Depërtojnë në venat e gjakut
E në degëzimet e tij
Dhe rinojnë shpirtin.

Në rrugicë
Po bie drita e trishtueshme e hënës.
Por janë kujtimet e shumta
Që ndezin shpirtin,
Ashtu si vetëtimat ndezin qiellin.

Përloten sytë
E lotët pikojnë si pikat e shiut.
Kujtimet
Vërshojnë drejt shpirtit
Ashtu si një lumë vërshon drejt detit.

 

 

Poezi nga Mimoza Çobo

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Poezi nga Lek Gjoka

  Poezi nga Lek Gjoka     Mjerimi s’ka fytyrë Mjerimi s’ka fytyrë Mjerimi ka gjak Varfëria është e vështirë Kur këmbëkryq tu ul në prag !. Fëmijët e mi në Florida Jetojnë jetën dhuratë prej Zotit S’iu mungon asgjë … Continue reading

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