Poetic Galactic Board “ATUNIS”
He was born in 1960 in the village of Gajre in Tetovo. He attended primary and secondary school in Tetovo. Undergraduate and postgraduate studies were attended in Prishtina, at the Faculty of Philology – Branch of Literature and Albanian Language. He writes poetry and prose, and deals with literary criticism, journalism and historiography.
She lives and works in Tetovo.
He has published:
“Eyes Sharri and Kosovo”,
“Is aging the freedom? “,
“The tombs have clocks?”
“The icon of slogan freedom “
ON THE WINGS OF A DREAM
On the wings of a dream – Satan has ruined my painting
Angry wolves, stirred by centuries – bite my skin.
The moon did not sound – dark even more darkness
The stars beyond this sky – lay flowers, like jinn of hell
I say: I have a lot of tears – like eyes under the hat of the blue sky.
I give the skin along with the stature – but the paintbrush and pen don’t get me neither the sun.
BETWEEN ELECTIONS AND RESOLUTIONS
Between elections and resolution – the words frozen the lips
After the grille, the scars were scorched – the eyes are eaten by the ravens and the glances get dark
People reappeared by the weight of the word – ‘The rich people ‘ cheered, each other told me you were kidding
The wolf with the change of the weather in time- require blood
The cradles hanging – the lute says the wire is aging ..
The Bigmother shake the headscarf with the last will for the earth – save me a handful of clay for the tomb
The painter paints Albania-like a hundred years ago
The poet begs the Lord to leave me alive – between pens and sheets
Births say the word be brave – you are Albanians – do not live as fools.
somebody scrapes my wounds
someone kills me
patience of patience
someone says left
someone says right
patience is dead
someone turns my back on me
somebody damages me
someone tells me
don’t do nothing
and live like a dog
someone tells me
tomorrow you will not be who you are,
but a nothing in the new Europe
someone tells me to do the freedom
someone tells me to do the Albania.
The burden was buried – with the game of the weather
Hundreds of crowns – lined behind the first
Screams of water – they did not stop tear points
They prepared speeches – together and shared
They said amongst the people – it also goes to Kastrioti.
Some say this man of the homeland – he never dies
Even tears on the cheek – they were talking about bravery
The funeral sought to cover it – just with a flag
They were caught for hair – a poet like this greatest god.
Lined walk – the road to the tombs, like an army
With the collars for the throat – to prove they have power
They opened the funeral – they looked scary
Do not again – the poet’s pen will hit them
With testament – We live in bondage and not in freedom
To the beloved people – stop you walked in the delirium .
The words were heard – God hear us
we are lucky – no one else has the power to disturb us.
Translations by Marjeta Shatro- Rrapaj