Olta Totoni (Albania)

Olta Totoni (Albania)
 
Olta Totoni is a British Studies Researcher. She studied British and American Studies at the University of Tirana. She specialized in Intercultural Language and Communication. She has published three cycles of poetry. She is also a writer of short stories. Some of her short stories are “Spider Letters” , “The Raven”, “The Storm”, “Dear Centaur”, “The House of the Artist”, “Stockholm’s Syndrome” published in different literary newspapers.
She has written many articles related to culture, politics, English language and most of them have to do with British and American studies. Her articles are published in the Balkans, the US, Canada, Mexico, Belgium, France etc.
She is the author of the book “Diary of the Time” (a collection of articles published in newspapers and magazines). She has translated excerpts from British literature and gives a good contribution in this field.
 
 
A farewell to the tramp
 
The sun is wearing the gray costume,
It is chasing the tramp,
full darkness,
only a thread of light.
 
He raises his head up,
looking at the sky,
looking at the infinite space,
floating nearby.
 
While the people down,
walk and run.
Doing gestures in vain,
without sense,
just chasing the sun.
 
Walking together in the same streets,
stepping in the same stones,
broken pieces of words,
broken pieces of worlds.
 
Mirage of the earthly dessert,
where the dust arises from the ground.
It takes forward everything,
it finds.
No breathing, no light.
 
Today,
the town is dead.
Silently, the moon hurts the darkness.
In the corner of the street,
the tramp is passing away..
He is seeing around himself,
the fog prevents his sway.
 
Now, his past
is just a vague memory.
The tramp is not wandering through the streets.
He is not going anywhere.
Down the cathedral, he was in his world.
He was staying there.
 
Today, I did not see him,
he passed away,
Death in the dead town,
the tramp is far away.
 
 
 
Shades of the existence
 
Through the rainbows
behind the colors,
Reminiscence.
 
Breathing the air of queens and kings,
the traces are still invisible
the river of the time uncovered them,
making them invincible.
 
I see the world with the eyes of the darkness.
In this world cave, I see plants
with their roots deep inside the earthliness .
Mosquitoes are drinking my blood,
sending greedy and paranoiac sounds
 
I see old fabrics
Hanging on the ruined walls of the time,
words haunting like silent ghosts,
making not at all any rhyme.
 
Laocoön told the untold truth,
emptiness prevailed,
In the darkest shades of the existence
there was no more distance.
 
 
 
Dante’s Paradise
 
Purgatory,
people are waiting
in the doorsteps,
trembling hearts
in the search of the unknown.
 
 
The big, front gate opens.
Can you hear that noise?
The knock on that wooden gate,
it’s definitely God’s choice.
 
An old man was standing by
like an hermetic statue,
Observing the light,
coming from that déjà vu.
 
Through light and darkness,
suffering and happiness,
unmerciful old man,
waiting there, hopeless.
 
After the gate,
People were dancing and laughing,
happy people of the eternal life.
It was worth their fighting.
 
In the Inferno,
people were in the flames
Suffering their sins,
cursing the days they were born.
Painful screams of Dante’s bliss.
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