Poems by Agron Shele / Translated by Peter Tase

 

AgronShele 2

Poems by Agron Shele

 

 

Autumn in Tirana

 

Autumn,

In Tirana that is lost in water creeks,

Through extended water drips in the windows of crystals,

In the abandoned benches from all this unrest

In the naked trees all the way to forgiveness.

 

Autumn

Even its returning tears of meditation instants,

Forgotten old romances in memory,

Returning painfully in the soft spirits

Yellow paper, of my diary.

 

Autumn,

In Tirana of the earlier steps,

Of a bench that is always naked with green flowers,

Of the last glass dropped through ridges

Pieces of lips, skies of love

 

Autumn

And longing for passed times,

For the deeming of light in the white soul,

For the life thrown away through angles of reflections,

For the abandoned leaves from all this demise.

 

Autumn

And traces in every heart beat

For her…for someone…for love,

Of after times that are knocked in so much noise

…and of autumn, e melancholic pentagram.

 

 

My Fatherland!

 

My fatherland!

Exhausted and suffering up to the last point

Exhausted and suffering all the way to becoming drunk,

From the weight of fearful time,

And fatality of the offense of nations.

 

My fatherland!

A time of screams from your centuries,

Raised over fires and fortresses of legends,

Bloody wounds by sleeping martyrs

A challenge of fate for the brave.

 

My fatherland!

Twisted from the waves of our tributes

Lackeys rose over podiums of pain,

Exalted crowds all the way to craziness,

Undersigned of heretical time.

 

My fatherland!

A song of the first bird in the morning

A wind of earth covered by green flowers

A muse of skies always in azure

A summer flower always shining.

 

My fatherland!

A hope and praying ground of your sons

A suffer of sacrilegious raised over freedom

An ancient root of the human foundation

An eternal voice on the last passions.

 

 

Precious white stone!

 

Precious white stone has remained there,

Hidden after walls and fearful winter,

After the weak drapes and the heretical time,

After the turns and mountains lost in the west.

 

White precious stone is still there,

Amid the years and lives passed with anger,

Amid the steps that reach all the way to childhood,

Amid longing and my spiritual pain.

 

White precious stone forgotten there,

Perhaps after the northern ice in depth

Dissolved through the gorges of restless wolfs,

Times of timeless of turbulent fates!

 

White precious stone, sleeping there

Below a pretty piece of sky, stars that suffer

Descending and broken by the vibration of drunkenness

Ascending all the way to the sky, just like in Holy Spirit.

 

 

How far away and nearby

 

How fare and how close,

With knees that remain through the times of sadness,

Spreading through grey waves of confusion

To genuine soul, anger and sadness.

 

How far and hour close,

We the owners of freedom and angst

In the bridges and lost horizons

In the intersections of turbulent fates.

 

How far and how close,

In the magic that has appeared at dawn

With thirst after an empty pride

And through the streets without a return.

 

How far and how close,

Touching the whitest dreams

At tomorrow’s hope and frightens

At the simplest humility, greatness.

 

 

You were lost…

 

You were lost completely unexpectedly in the intersection of roads,

without lights,

not even green lights with the colors of poets

you were lost through the clouds of thoughts

dissolved after the suffering screams of soul.

 

You were lost in the rainbows that wait colors

Infinitely prisms of the sky that is broken

In the broken wings creeks of seagulls

From waterfalls that descend through thousands of dances

A twist of clouds and much dew.

 

You were lost in the stars a thunderstorm of the west

Dreams that are meek on angel looking wings

A phantasm of peaks that touch fantasy

Of fiery loves,

That darkness suffers.

 

You were lost deeply in the sea’s blue color

And through tornadoes that shake lives

A tip of the iceberg that touch the blueness

…And of fates,

Beliefs of desires that are sinful to anyone

 

You were lost in the first depth of winter

Icebergs of feelings frozen in the park,

…decorating the childish life without luck

From pain

And the cold is frightened with sadness.

 

You were lost deeply in view

From eyes that touch endless horizons,

Eyebrows that are tired from the days of waiting

And the last tears

Glassy crystal washed by sadness.

 

Lost misunderstanding a life of abandonment

Of scenarios of symphony of pain

Of times that have gone swiftly without notice

Turbulent over feelings

Living under worry

 

You were lost in the shelves of writing books

And of the ink that is erased from this forgiveness

Waves of words burned in passions

Waves of words burned in love.

 

 

 

Apocalypse

 

Birds

Of infinite space in the sky

A rebus of stars sparkling stars

A son of sonnets with late night events

After sounds of fire and the life of soul

 

Like the latest leaves of autumn branches

Waving in the cloud sky as screaming

After the cold scream,

An ice that is coming by

And of the first snow whitening the ground

 

…And we go not understanding the rapid steps

Towards whom,

…Or nothingness that awaits transformation

The surrounding of grey darkness just like evening

Of a moonless night,

Of infinite darkness.

 

Everyone towards the heavy gate are headed

With sadness,

Sins,

And turbulent minds

Satellites of circles of Dante encompass them

Perhaps at the dawn of Beatrice’s splendor

 

And the grey dust has a veil of attention,

A veil of forgiveness

An iron veil

Jailed feelings exterminated in the distance

Of lives that go

And lives that come

 

And they come and come non stop

From the screams and swords

At the weapons and bombs

The word and law overcomes inhabitants

The new knights of crusades

Modern inquisitors.

 

And fate wanted to bring these sins

In the pain of peace,

To turn into a deceased

For what time erases with eagerness

For that seasons resuscitate.

 

 

PeterTase

Translated by Peter Tase

 

 

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