Juljana Mehmeti ( Albania – Italy)

Juljana Mehmeti ( Albania – Italy)
 
Juljana Mehmeti was born in the city of Durres, in Albania.
Since she was a child she became fond about literature and writing, especially poetry, a genre that in the following years will turn into a real life motive, a way to better express her ideas, her thoughts, her visions and metaphysics , her point of view according to her consciousness but also improving the awareness of the same suggestion that surrounds the human world.
The first book “Soft – Poems” published in Italian language attracted the attention of publishers and Italian literary criticism, not only for its particular style, but also for new words, the language used, the philosophical message and the currents present in her poems that go from Hermetism to Surrealism.
The second book comes from the field of translation entitled “Vramendje” – (Rimugino “) of the Italian author Alessandro Ferrucci Marcucci Pinoli, which will constitute the first experience in this field, but will also strengthen his long-standing conviction, to know and translate in his language, many popular Italian authors..
The collection of poems “Oltrepassare” is her new book, which presents itself with the new tendencies of Albanian literature, postmodernism and universal consciousness, from experimental currents to absurdity.
She currently lives and works in Ancona, Italy.
 
 
The only sun
 
Tired, the gaze is lost in the void
beyond the facades that hide the light
where lighthouses shine in the intersections
the prolonged waiting for the steps of silence
time obscured in twisted visions
dragged in the midnight of the shadows.
 
Sad gray fogs surround the darkness
Rising suspended between the screams of the wind
I cry with madness for what went away
still hidden in deep memories …
in the gloomy whitish of the highest ridges
the coldness of a single winter day.
 
Tired the gaze is lost in the void
of air saturated with absurd forms
chaos dispersed between turbid traces
and cosmic particles become dust.
 
Tired the day by the traps of destiny
on tips of icebergs that scratch the clouds
between hidden stars, the promise is fading
waiting for the return
of his only sun.
 
 
 
Crucifix to forgiveness
 
Looking beyond yourself
looking for sensations
that pulsate sleeping rhythms
breathing the dry air of a hidden sun
in his void,
without knowing what is distressing you,
it is like loosing himself
in the ether
dragged through the clouds of the hermits
and the sarcophagi of the Gods
awakened at the threshold of the day
wet by the murmur of the rain …
 
Feeling as a slave of suspended feelings
that turn on and off between the deserted spaces of disappointment
and the crumbled pyramids in the escape of the last pharaoh,
scratched on the walls of memory
mummified in pain
carved in infinite hieroglyphs
sprinkled with the scream of the wind
and blown in centuries of love,
it is like traveling in an abandoned island
where only the sea thunders the echo of the waves
and you, a hermit of pain with your eyes to the sky,
you crucify yourself to forgiveness.
 
 
 
Translated by Claudia Piccino
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