1. Unrepeatable

Never come back
by the same road, pathways,
stamped on by so many seasons

You try in vain
to amend something, improve
love can never be repaired.

It will be a Sisyphean task
joining back cut bonds,
continuing the romance
Love cannot be welded back.

And in the same time it is love
and unrepeatable too.

The second time was a new beginning.
Go unrepentant. Forget me.


2. Night in the Capital City

From cathedral heights you descent grudgingly
In silence, leisurely, solemnly
along the streets, squares, Gothic building s,
bronze statues, bridges, skyscrapers
a blue night in the capital city.

Dazzling neon lights, displays, glass-cases
Roaring grey trams, speeding cabs
from distant stations, vicinity quarts
bringing passengers, delayed,
to their rendezvous, ordinary appointments
cinemas, theaters, discotheques, restaurants,
concerts, exhibitions, literary events.

Ordinary meetings by the clock
under the high column
waiting, hugging, necessary delays.

Out of an old cinema
a young couple comes embraced
following the 'Love story' movie.
Out of numerous bars
guests mockingly stare beyond the glass
at the appearance of drama of life.

The capital city dozes off sleeplessly.
illuminating images disappear in distances,
the night leaves the horizon in dark, in mist
to the vicinities when it becomes more nightly.

3. Who you answered, spoke to!

[To my friend B.S.]

Where’ you headed/ where to
so late past midnight
who else is next to you
who, but your loneliness?

Tell me how is your night
How you start your day
so boring so long
in that Paris city?

Who do you always call
sad in stormy moments
who you answer speak to
calmly besides your silence?

How you spend your seasons
in that faraway city there
in the streets, squares who you walk with
besides your longing for us?

In numerous endless roads
thereby wandering all along
you set forth but never reach anywhere
you walk in circle, pathless, aimless.

How often sadness sets
heart-burnt, heart-frozen
an hour of emptiness, and how you end
how – when always a loner?

You look around sad
buses, trains, steamers
staring always contemplating
waving to your country far away.

Your sight is always locked
by the soaring Eiffel Tower
it slays both sky and mind
appearing like an image, map.

In a rainy somber night,
You’ll take a glass of venom
in a dozing, smoke-filled bistro
to bow for once to oblivion.

4. As Guitar is Playing


As guitar is playing
times, places, distant lands,
songs of our yearning,
old friends we remember,
forgotten loves
that fled like frightened doves.

As guitar plays on
distant memories come close
rain falls over memory grass,
passing of years,
nothing remains to oblivion.

As guitar plays on
leaves fall from memoirs
like from dry trees,
we return to the steps, passages
and fill in with yearning.

As guitar is playing
night becomes more dark
dressed up in romantic clothes
stars burn of yearning
we dream old dreams,
unraveling memories like keepsakes.

As guitar plays on
we remember the waiting
delays, arrivals, meetings, departures
in countless places, streets
by clocks, stations, forgotten
streets, somewhere in the West, South, North…

As guitar is playing
Memory is stirred like a sea, tide
A seagull climbs up with a screech
A boat slips towards the horizon.


5. Without goodbye

I had a feeling
and I did not go out
a last meeting has/no luck
although you invited me
and waiting for so long.

Simply
I had no wish to have
a last meeting.

Indeed
A last meeting
Is no meeting at all
It takes the color of parting
And its memory name.

I wished
wanted really
one less last meeting.


6. Closeness Undone

The void you left behind
horrifying void, boundless
nothing fulfils now, nothing
not even your delayed return.

Time passed, distances, others
came between us, like a river over the banks.

Closeness was undone.

7. Traces, steps

Nothing will erase
not even the torrent rain, stormy
that fell incessantly, in weeks
the traces that took me to you.

Nothing will cover
not even thick snow
our steps all over
over the dewy grass,
sidewalks, streets, no address
after random walks
at midday, evening, midnight.


8. Simple

The story about you
is quite simple
just like you are
simple, modest.

The story about you
is very short
as an eye blink
as long as the idyll lasted
a fragment of a moment
a flicking draft.


9. In every meeting


In
every meeting
go full of yearning
like
in the first
meeting.

In
every meeting
enjoy
like
in the last meeting.


10. Nocturnal


Two candles on the table,
Two quinces of home,
Two half-full glasses,
Two steps of distance in between,\
Two drops of tears on the cheek
for the two years we didn’t meet and
I, alone, late, past midnight.


11. Autumnal

In me
autumn comes stealthily
penetrating my cord
unnoticed inside

A flock of birds
fly away frightened
from my shoulders
rising up bursting, dashing
disappearing into the sky.

Around endlessly
fallen leaves, yellowish
dust, mist, rain
oblivion and void.

Predawn veils
day wanes away bit by bit
in the autumn landscape
horrible vanity.


12. We left time a name

In our lifetime countless people, men, women we meet
Although we hurry, we rush, evasively we run
Taking something from them we give some in discreet
We become parts of each other with memories done.

We walk on constantly we change addresses, towns
Though passer-bys, grabbed by time, hurrying on our way
Taking along images, taking rhymes and nouns
Leaving our eternal stamps, never going astray.

We go through in time, wherever the road takes us
With similar steps, like the generations before
Wounded by seasons, erasable wrinkles of fuss
We give time a name, never being a bore.

13. A wandering bird

I often think of myself as if I were
a spoiled bird, a wandering fowl
no branch, no nest, no place to stop
enchanted by heights aimlessly running.

Constantly on the run, evasive all the time
carelessly I fly climb up, endlessly stroll
with boundless space eternally beckoning.


14. Mixed Images

In vision constantly quite mixed images I see
memories and dreams mix, a childhood meadow
what these images are – real or not I have no key
have they ever occurred – dreams coming as a shadow?

People’s faces, seasons, events, towns, roads, travels
covered in time by layers of green moss easy to forget
they have happened, memories of people are but marvels
almost erased standing still somewhere coming as a threat

And it seems as if behind the curtains I can still peek
at shadows, past images, wish-dreams, or just a fervor
they appear mingled, nothing I know, all is so bleak
have they really happened or I am but an observer?

But always over images, my memories and dreams
soft unnoticed like a Tirana rain sadness redeems.


15. Your three dots on paper ...


They’re a secret, question or answer, something left in half
Doubt, unsetting hope, an untold wish on your behalf.

Yearning, fervor, waiting, or dreams unrealized
That only you and I projected and eternalized.

They are unending torrents of wishes or just a dream
Or hands stretched out anxious awaiting gleam.

Distant memories, quenched, visions that you only know
Joy or even anger, three drops of tears coming as a blow…

Sighs, sounds of the heart to be said in a season, day
Waiting shyly in a nest, the three dots, who can say.
They are your soul, 16. Coffee with You


Many drink their coffee with friends so few,
At meeting points, fixed hours, in a strict view.

Some like to drink it constantly alone
Self-forgotten, all bitter, in anger blown.

Some drink their coffee alone, totally in void
Self-sufficient, lonely, never overjoyed…

Some drink it with joy, on special days, occasions
Some because they must – in partings, evasions.

He needs to drink his coffee, his cigarette lit
She, at the same bar, listening to some hit.

But I only have coffee with you, and you alone
With much love and a bit of sugar thrown.

Biography:
Smajl Smaka

Smajl Smaka was born in 1952 in the village of Bllagaje in the region of Peja. He studied Political Science in Zagreb, Croatia. In 1998 he published a book of poetry, “Emblemë Nate” [The night of the Emblem] followed by two books of interviews. Smaka is the authour of many publicistic articles and critical literature. He worked as a journalist for a daily newspaper “Rilindja” and was also the correspondent in Pristina for the Croatian newspaper Vjesnik. Smaka was also editor for the Kosovo Public Television. Smajl Smaka continues to work as a translator, from Albanian into Slavic languages and vice versa. At present he lives and works in Pristina, Kosovo.

avniqorraj@gmail.com