Poezi nga Anila Kruti

Poezi nga Anila Kruti     Gjallë   Jam lindur në një ditë korriku në një vapë të madhe ku zhuriste dielli dhe këndonin gjinkallat. Në dhomën e maternitetit ime më vuante dhimbjet e lindjes me siguri është trishtuar shumë … Continue reading

Hannie Rouweler – Poezi nga Tatiana Terebinova / Shqipëroi: Vasil Çuklla

Poezi nga Tatiana Terebinova

 

Hannie Rouweler

Më dëgjon, më kupton
Sa herë vëmendjes të solla
Më dëgjon, më kupton?
Fjalët e humbën fuqinë
dhe më kot u distancova
duhet të vishesh, o të zhvishesh fjalë.
Që t’u kthej mbrapsht
kuptimin e vërtetë?
Duhet, më parë, të veshim maskë
të fërkojmë duart me xhel
jo për pesë, por të paktën, për dhjetë sekonda
t’i bashkoj me nuancat
figurat dhe motivet në trajtë lulesh
tek ulërrijnë, diç, nga pullazet
para se të shfaqet një figurë, në formë dixhitale
koka e plotë dhe fytyra e ngjeshur në ekran
dhe leximi tek buzët, fjalësh të këqia, shndërim tingujsh.
Ngre megafonin,
turne në qytetin e bukur të automobilave
e vetme nga shtëpia. Kjo është e mundur, domosdo.
Të ftoj. Ftoj të gjitha nënkuptimet:
Më dëgjon? Më kupton?
Hanie Rouweler

 

Shqipëroi: Vasil Çuklla

Shtëpia Botuese “ADA” publikon vëllimin poetik “Ëndërr jete” të autores Klementina Hristina Tesho

Shtëpia Botuese “ADA” publikon vëllimin poetik “Ëndërr jete” të autores Klementina Hristina Tesho Titulli: Ëndërr jete Autore: Klementina Hristina Tesho Korrektor: Çelik Petriti Botimi i parë, 2020 Përgatiti për botim: Roland Lushi ©Të gjitha të drejtat i takojnë autores Roland … Continue reading

Dr. Namita Laxmi Jagaddeb (India)

Dr. Namita Laxmi Jagaddeb (India)

 
Dr. Namita Laxmi Jagaddeb, a lecturer in Deptt. of English, Mahima Degree College, Bijapali, Jharsuguda, Odisha (India), is a poet in Odia and English, a translator, an essayist and a social activist. Her book of translation, titled “ My Love, My Seasons” published by Black Eagle Books, Dublin, OH (US) has been included at Columbus Metropolitan Library (US). In recognition of her literary, critical and social activities, she has been conferred with many national and international awards and honours such as: TEMIRQAZYQ- the Best Poet-Writer of the World, 2018, World Laureate in Literature-2018 and World Poetic Star, 2019 by WNWU, Kazakhstan; Literoma Laureate Award, Women Achiever Award ,2019, Nari Samman,2020 by Literoma, Kolkata; Dr. Hannan Awwad Peace Award 2019, Palestine; Biyotkesh Tripathy Best Paper Award inICPN, 2019, by Berhampur University; Bharat Ratna Indira Gandhi Gold Medal in 2018 by GEPRA, (India).
 
 
THE JOURNEY
 
The storm is over now;
senses have quietened,
passions nosedived, fancies absconded,
absolute is the heart’s estate,
wide awake and alive to
the broad breast of the blue heaven.
There is a dawn in me.
 
I feel in my guts all energy of the universe
jostling for a quick release as the hour strikes
for the journey to begin.
It is not mine; the journey is ordained for
billions’ well being far beyond the boundary
of self; a journey worth sustaining for love and
love alone is the driving force.
 
Lo! The human tree stands forlorn, desolate,
sans fruits, blossoms, birds; the grace is gone;
for it forgot the song of life; how to sing to birds,
and kiss the wandering wind.
A grievous spectacle, indeed; my heart aches.
 
Can’t I play Promethean to end the dark oblivion
with a spark of light?
Must I go my way, come what may.
Let the rock, the vulture, the chain
be my life-long companions; the tree be saved.
Let it smile again.
 
 
 
HOPE
 
Am I awake!
Whither gone is my lovely dream;
whither fled my sweet morn,
my fair day, the scented air!
Not a soul around; all are shell shocked,
cooped up behind closed doors;
a nameless fear whirling in the wind,
all places look haunted, phantom like.
The Devil is in.
Subtler are its ways, known to none,
protean its character, spine-chilling its moves;
conjuring a thousand arms, it executes with abandon.
 
Oh, what a scourge, what a curse;
for what promises broken, which trust breached!
Is it nemesis catching me up for what I stupidly did,
poisoning the life’s spring at source;
looting the mother earth, its charm of loveliness;
the living air, its benediction?
 
Oh Lord, I now stand trembling on the Day of Judgement.
Forgive me, my excesses; save me, save our souls.
Let peace return to elements, sweet breeze blow afresh,
shut doors open wide again, to the wide world.
 
Let the devil be consigned to hell .
 
 
THE WAIT
 
The other day, I was a bubbly songbird,
all-season-fit, groomed well, but wedded to none;
all day long hopping, flitting, twitting,
I loved to flirt with the sky, twirling around the shining blue
under the silver dazzle; I loved to frolic with the sun-kissed
drizzle, when fairies began weaving a symphony of colours
for the divine arc; I loved to sing the song of life to all the kind souls,
nestled in my lovely bower of green earth.
But, alas! Gone are, in a wink, my bright days and
my little nest of twigs and straw; my wings fatigued, eyes dim.
I can see only tears and fire engulfing all that lay fresh
and fragrant between my sweet home and the vault of heaven.
The wind sighs heavily for a grieving humanity.
How agonizing!
Who can stand the sight of ignorant folks , in millions,
hijacked to the killing field?
The Satan plays it foul, utmost foul;
the cunning God waits.
It is His wont.