Mother of Mine (NËNËS SIME) – Kristaq Turtulli / Translated into English by Eda Begeja Çini

 
Poem by Kristaq Turtulli
 
 
 
Mother of Mine
 
It was hard for me to comprehand it then
The beautiful, the noble, the silver haired
Mother of mine
 
Who stood up bravely
when the prison guard
was throwing down my father’s clothes
covered in blood
 
Gently and quietly, lips closed tight
With your hands shaking
you picked them up
 
In your lonliness you cried
cleaning the blood that dried
Rubbing them hard
Washing’em with the shivers of your heart
With the tears of your soul
Which you could no longer control
 
The horrific prison, that “double-Gated Inn”
withered your smile, your yet unbloomed youth
my mother…my Queen
 
You had to face alone
the pain, the poverty,
the beaterness of everything
 
Surrounded by cold,
Hatred and darkness
Majestic mother of mine
Wounded by bitter provocations
Threats of beasts, scary creatures, snakes
And people without a spine
 
On your shoulders you carried the load of your sufferings,
The whole town’s ignorance
the persecution, the hunger,
the mistreatment against two old people
The belligerence
 
being kicked out of your own big house,
thrown to a pitiful hole
where the north wind slashing through your bones
would visit with a howl
 
The delicate, the unbroken
the suffered soul
my wonderful mother
the very best of all
 
you continuously washed, rubbed and rinsed those clothes
trying to fill that immense void
whichI was too young to understand what it was
 
Now I know
I feel it to the bone
But now You’re gone
 
the dignified, silver haired,
petite, and divine
you, beautiful mother of mine
 
 
 
NËNËS SIME
 
Atëherë s’e kuptoja ç’ ishte?!
E bukura, fisnikja, flokëbardha
Nëna ime.
Stoike qëndrove,
Kur gardiani flakte
Të babait tesha përgjakura.
Buzë shtrënguar, përkuleshe ne gjunjë,
me përkujdesje e dhembje, i mblidhje,
Duardridhur në trastë i fusje,
Në vetmi qaje.
Gjakun e mpiksur pastroje,
Me forcë i fërkoje,
Me drithërim zemre i laje.
Me lot shpirti i shpëlaje.
Nga i tmerrshmi burg, ‘
‘Hani me dy porta’,
Buzagazi rinia
Tu vyshk nëna ime,
Pa çelur mirë.
Duhej të përballoje e vetme
Dhembjen, varfërinë, hidhësinë.
 
Kudo, rreth teje kishte acar,
lagështirë, errësirë, Smirë,
E urta, madhërishmja Nëna ime.
 
Të plagosnin të hidhurat provokime,
Kërcënime Të gjarpërinjve, zvarranikëve.
Mbi shpinë mbajte vuajtje,
Injorancën e një qytet të tërë,
Persekutimin, urinë, dhunimin e dy pleqve,
Shkuljen prej shtëpisë së madhe,
Degdisjen në vrimë miu.
Ku frynte, të thante veriu.
E bukura,Delikatja,
E vuajtura,Deri në dhembje.
E papërkulshmja, E mrekullueshmja,
Nëna ime
Në larjen, fërkuarën, shpëlarjen e teshave,
Gjeje atë, që aq shumë të mungonte…
Por atëherë s’e kuptoja ç’ ishte?!
Tani e ndjej, e përjetoj, por më s’je,
E bukura, flokëbardha,
E vogla,e Dhembshura,
Madhështorja,E pavdekshmja,
Nëna ime.
 
 

Translated into English by Eda Begeja Çini

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