Sinan Vaka ( Albania)
Member of Board of International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS
Sinan Vaka was born in Përmet in 1956. He is a poet, writer and translator of Italian language. From 1993 to 2008 he lived in the province of Cremona, Italy, where he was also the winner of the First Prize “A Lodi vecchio”. The poet and translator Sinan Vaka wanders through the labyrinths of a bright literary age, has wandered and revived through their lighthearted, melted and indexed with the art and the magic brought about and with full consciousness and the weight of intellectual conscience gave the phonetics of his letters to the widest discernment and the reverberation of his poetry.
He is the author of literary works:
Nostalgia of the Southeast.
Anthology of Italian Poetry (translation)
Hidden eyes looking out of the temptation,
Across my thoughts my condemnation is lifted up.
Drink the poisonous cup of your graces,
Therefore as the wicked I swear for the lips in blossom,
My eyes filled with tears,
Make me feel hopeless.
The devils appear in the depths of anxiety,
As a sad song, as a melodious germ…
The tempting eyelashes move the anguish
From my frozen blood,
But my tired soul is on the run.
The truth is alive even when the faith is lost,
There is no reason why today looks like tomorrow’s research
And staring at the crowd of clouds in the sky where the spirits lie…
The hope makes me feel alive,
Because they do not rush their own gods without touching them,
And so evil repents for the guilt I wait.
I do not want a moment to appear to me,
Your vision that never warms me,
The fate decided, or is the casualty,
My soul trembling even now that I am a man.
Everything has been spotted, time is gray dust,
For years on every thread has thrown you,
And perhaps what was tempting in the youth,
You’ve hidden it with your own tricks.
But the distances I rip into memory,
And still remain unanswered
What happened to us, or was it timidity,
That you remained silent as well.
Spring naturally in silence
The green carpet will throw,
Her superfluous smile,
Will shine like the sun for everyone?
And I do not know why the color of Zephyr
That blue color gives to your eyes,
It gives to me the vibrations of a drunk,
Or does it have the same meaning for both of us?
Shivering embraces you after silence,
I feel it in your turbulence,
It is a time to pardon her,
I know my soul fools you!
Antique fever of pains,
Brings me to the shadow of icy demons.
The wind of nostalgia in me does not blow,
From the cold night of your escape.
My voice in silence cries.
My mind is the house of doubts
And we look like the devils of an infantile play,
Condemned to cross over the bridges of despair.
The late mercy is a lie.
In my futility the ideas are fading.
One day I will rethink peace
Despite the emigrant gray of my mind.