Bardhyl Maliqi (Albania)
Bardhyl Maliqi was born in July 19, 1955, city of Sarande, Albania
– Doctor of Education Science
Employment: Professor of Saranda University & Supervisor of the Psychosocial Service at the Saranda-Konispol Local Education Offices.
Work Experience: Since 1977 – 2019, he has held various positions in education as a high school and high school teacher of Russian language and literature, Russian language and psychology, as a specialist, educational consultant and inspector.
I have written 19 books: Flavors of Risk (essay), Mirrors (poetry), Composition Criticism (study), and Morphology – shortcuts for students (college text) and a book of poetry “Statue Anxiety”, a book of poetry “Bird Empire”, pedagogical essay book “Homework – A Daily Challenge” The Ethics of Communication Flows, etc. There are book and cycle publications throughout the Balkans.
15 regional and national awards for literary works and art competitions, 29 regional and national student awards.
Teacher Training for Teacher Effectiveness Testing from 1984 to 2006, 967 articles, a good part of them published in the literary press.
Editing 174 books.
Manequins are happy,
so much advertising,
so many boutiques
only for them,
Just for them.
And only girls
young women ,too
they dress the manequins,
advertise them and
when grow older,
change the shopkeepers.
For the manequins
but the young
and only the pretty
grow old just with one woman,
Like exhausted lorry.
who cares for Socrates
for Tolstoy or for me;
that my suit jacket is
worn out at sleeves (elbows)
and the trousers,..
eh, so much thinner grown….
Ah, if I were a manequin
THERE COMES A MOMENT
There comes a moment I`ll become air,
with hands of breeze to touch your hair,
fire I`ll become, where ye warm your body.
In the vessel of fortune: wheel and mast,
I`ll be a wave in the sea you plunge,
to play with forms and oval whiteness,
I`ll become water, you die your thirst in spring,
a tree, a shade, stool and swing.
to become the grass of meadows you play,
to become the fragrance of April flowers,
to become a fruit you could taste me,
only then, though twilight,
only then you`ll believe me!
The mirrors are capricious girls,
Naïve, nasty and timely nervous.
In the bright, delicate thin skin,
The soul…in traps of ilusions caught.
The morrors are like females : always liars,
In deceitful forms, convex, concave.
And should you like to know all the truth
Throughout your life in their eyes yourself look.
In intimate moments, beauteous, not real,
Pleasant, true, as they are they are appear ,
With all weaknesses and human virtues.