English 
Spanish
Riza Lahi
Nationality: Albania
Email: rizalahi@yahoo.com
- +56 9 8811 6084
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Riza Lahi
Languages – write and speak fluent English / Understand and read Russian
I am author of 33 books, published in Albania; some – translations from English into Albanian language . Have been invited some times abroad Albania as writer and as journalist. I am member of “Albanian League of Writers and Poets” , member of WCP/WAAC (World Poe ...
Languages – write and speak fluent English / Understand and read Russian
I am author of 33 books, published in Albania; some – translations from English into Albanian language . Have been invited some times abroad Albania as writer and as journalist. I am member of “Albanian League of Writers and Poets” , member of WCP/WAAC (World Poe ...
Riza Lahi
Languages – write and speak fluent English / Understand and read Russian
I am author of 33 books, published in Albania; some – translations from English into Albanian language . Have been invited some times abroad Albania as writer and as journalist. I am member of “Albanian League of Writers and Poets” , member of WCP/WAAC (World Poet Society) and “ Albanian – American Academy of Arts and Sciences “
I have published, too, a lot of times articles in order to protect human rights of Romas\' community and have been invited in 6th and 7th Romas\' World Congress , being not roma, always, without material repayment .
I am in leading staff of “Obelisk “ – cultural magazine published in Tirana and
deputy president of folk ensemble “The eagles”, Tirana and have participate in a lot of CIOFF s activities.
I am winner of some honored prices in Albania.Some of my works are published in Greek, Rumania, Kosovo, Slovakia, India, USA, etc .
In 2012, I am certified with diploma from “International Writers and Artists Association” with that motivation: “This Diploma is to certify that in 2012, RIZA LAHI , who has demonstrated distinguished achievement within the principles and purposes of the International Writers and Artists Association, is recognized as THE BEST TRANSLATER INTO ALBANIAN OF ALBANIA”
SOME OF MY TRANSLATIOS
“Last night I was whispering to a star” – from famous Persian Poet J. Rummi ,selected poems
“The sky flow from my veil’s nook” – from Iranian poet Forugh Forughazd, considered as the best poet of women there from the all poetic Iranian times
“Selected poems” of Francis Ledwidge, Irish poet, considered as the best lyric of the first world war ( published completely in press but not as a book)
“The adventures of Mandy Duck “ – children’s work , of Eduard Bosse
Selected poems for children from British, American, Australian and Scottish poets ( in two volumes, publish in Albania and, too, in Kosovo)
“The angel of Mostar” – memories of British author Sally Becker
“ Nobody is angel” - memories of British author Sally Becker, published in Kosovo
I have publish in Albanian language poems, stories, children ‘s works and a roman . In my works there are three artistic books dedicated to Albanian pilots.
In 2012 I got a diploma fromUSA, from IWAA , stamped and with signature of the Presidenet o this World Organisation with this motivation:
“This Diploma is to certify that in 2012, RIZA LAHI , who has demonstrated distinguished achievement within the principles and purposes of the International Writers and Artists Association, is recognized as THE BEST TRANSLATER INTO ALBANIAN OF ALBANIA”
(By English and Spanish)
1 - LAST MOMENTS OF DEPARTING FATHERLAND
The next!
He stopped of at the boat. He
Could ’n act the next step;
Nobody advised him to hurry up
During that silence and
Waves’ plash
The next!
Got out pebbles from the vest-pocket
Accounted aloud – were five
Throw down by force
And shouted
“Never will see again“ ...!
With his long thigh
Took a place on the boat’s head.
The next!
Was moving like a sleepwalker
Looking nothing
Noiselessly
Like the coffins walks
The next!
Was a man...
Started to cry aloud....Has
a roughly voice, like of teenager almost man
asking for bread to that woman
to whom asked always “... wont bread!“
- his mother.
As he collected the brain
seat with his case in the midst of thighs.
Everybody with
downed heads
and the shore
was
going
away
awaaaaaaayyyyyyy....
4 November, night...Adriatic sea.
ULTIMOS MOMENTOS DEJANDO LA PATRIA
(LAST MOMENTS OF DEPARTING FATHERLAND)
El siguiente!
Se detuvo ante la embarcación. él
no podía dar el siguiente paso;
Nadie le aconsejó que se diera prisa
Durante ese silencio y
el chapotearr de las olas \'
El siguiente!
Sacó guijarros del bolsillo del chaleco
contó en voz alta - cinco
Arrojados por la fuerza
y gritó:
"Nunca los volveré a ver" ...!
Con su largo paso
Tomó un lugar al frente de la embarcación.
El siguiente!
Estaba moviéndose como un sonámbulo
buscando nada
sin hacer ruido
Como un ataúd que camina
El siguiente!
Era un hombre ...
Se puso a llorar en voz alta .... Tenía
apenas la voz, de un adolescente casi hombre
pidiendo pan a esa mujer
a la que siempre pedía "... dame pan! "
- Su madre.
Al darse cuenta
tomo asiento con su estuche entre sus muslos.
Todo el mundo con
cabezas bajas
y la costa
se
iba
alejando
lejosssss....
4 de noviembre, noche ... el mar Adriático.
Translated in Spanish Patricia Garza Soberanis, México
Member of WPS, The Cove/Rincón International -Delegate in Mexico, winner of Golden Medal in 31 WCP Congress, 2011, in Kenosha, USA.
(By different languages )
2 - VETERAN PILOTS *
Threw a palm land on opened grave
Where were crying at all.
They approached silently to mortal dinner’s table
Set down
Afflicted a little
Took a sip raki
And did
Jokes.
All their life they had played with death …
I know to everybody:
The grudges
The deceits
The modesty
The egoism
The dirtiness
The frenzies
The apathy
The strength
The weakness
The rushes
The laughs
The tears
All they had a lover
To whom
They
Told everything
Gave everything
Everywhere only laughed
And
Never
Betrayed….
Was
That:
The sky
Over
Homeland .
Note – written on a death ceremony
*Comment of Poet and Translater Vangjush Ziko, who lives in Korcha ( Albania ) and USA “Dressed with the death\'s black cloak but also with the eternal heavenly blue of the skies, your poem , a conflict, a contrast and even an antagonism, is the incentive to give itself flying wings. . The descriptive and contrasting background of the grave and the heavens, the funeral procession itself, turns the poem into an eternal flight. You have played well and in an artistic way with the fate and the dream. Hence the farewell "party" doesn\'t have the death\'s gloomy shadows. In contrary, it is being transformed into a human challenge. That\'s because the pilot had always challenged himself and dared both life and death. That done in the name of a greater love , that of the love of his country as he observed and protected his homeland\'s skies. These skies are eternal and the pilot\'s name remains forever as one of its bright stars. The poem is a human hymn for the aviator, the dreamer, the daring the martyr of his own heavens.”(The English version of that comment - Merita Bajraktari, poetess, publicist and hero of the author’s roman dedicated to Albanian pilots fate “Serenade from Korcha in New York”. Merita i known in roman as “Mjelma”)
老練な操縦士 (VETERAN PILOTS)
ぽっかりと空いた墓に投げ出された一握の土地
そこは泣き叫ぶ声ばかりだった
静かに死の夕食のテーブルに来て
座って
少し考え込んで
ラキをすすり
冗談を交わした
死を奏でたのが彼らの人生
みんな分かっている
その敵意
その地獄絵
その内気
その自己主義
そのいやらしさ
その激しさ
その冷淡
その無力
その弱さ
その活力
その笑い
その涙
みんな愛人をもっていた
彼らが
何でも話せる人
何でも与えて
笑いだけが残る所で
そして
決して
裏切ることがなく．．．
それは
故郷の空のこと
死の儀式で書かれた詩
死の儀式で書かれた詩 Note – written on a death ceremony
Translated by Japanfrom poetess , member of WPS Kae Morii
ΒΕΤΕΡΑΝΟΙ ΠΙΛΟΤΟΙ
Έριξαν μια χούφτα χώμα στον ανοιχτό τάφο
Εκεί που όλοι έκλαιγαν
Πλησίασαν αθόρυβα στο τραπέζι με το μνημόσυνο δείπνο
Κάθισαν
Κάπως λυπημένοι
Πήραν μια γουλιά ρακί
Και
Αστειεύτηκαν.
Σ’ όλη τους τη ζωή έπαιζαν με το θάνατο…
Γνωρίζω πολλά για τον καθένα τους:
Τις έριδες
Τις απάτες
Την μετριοφροσύνη
Τον εγωισμό
Την ατιμία
Τις εντάσεις
Την απάθεια
Τη δύναμη
Την αδυναμία
Τις βιασύνες
Τα γέλια
Τα δάκρυα
Όλοι αυτοί είχαν έναν εραστή
Σε αυτόν
Έλεγαν
Τα πάντα
Έδιναν τα πάντα
Παντού γελαστός
Και
Ποτέ
Δεν τους πρόδωσε…
Ήταν
Αυτός:
Ο Ουρανός
Πάνω
Απ’ την Πατρίδα.
Translated by the Greece Poetess Vassiliki Ergazaki, member of WPS
PILOTOS VETERANOS
Lançou uma palma na terra na cova aberta
Onde todos estavam chorando.
Eles se aproximaram silenciosamente à mesa do jantar mortal
Sentarem-se
Afrigiram-se um pouco
Tomaram um trago de raki*
E contaram
Anedotas.
Toda a vida eles brincaram com a morte…
Conheço a todos:
Os rancores
As decepçòes
As modestias
O egoismo
As sugeiras
Os arrebatamentos
A apatia
A força
A fraqueza
As pressas
Os risos
As làgrimas
Todos tiveram uma amada
Para quem
Eles
Contaram tudo
Deram tudo
Riram em toda parte
E
Nunca
Trairam…
Foi
Assim:
O cèu
Sobre
A patria.
Nota: Escrito numa cerimònia de morte .
*Raki – Bebida alcoòlica de Albania
Traduçao po Teresinka Pereira, famous president of IWAA
PILOŢII VECHI
Au aruncat câte-un pumn de pământ
Alături de mormântul uitat, unde plângeau toţi.
Au stat tăcuţi la masa mortului
Au stat în linişte, unii trişti…
Alţii au şi plâns
Au băut câte-un pic de rachiu
Au glumit.
Ei sunt cei ce au râs de moarte toată viaţă.
Eu le cunosc tuturor:
Geloziile
Satanismele
Modestiile
Egoismele
Murdăriile
Furiile
Leneviile
Puterile
Slăbiciunile
Fugile
Lacrimile
Şi toţi aceştia au avut o iubită
Căreia
I-au spus totul
I-au dăruit totul
I-au împărtăşit bucuriile
Şi
Niciodată…
Nu au trădat-o…
Această iubită
Fusese
Cerul
Peste
Patria lor…
Notă: poem scris la o ceremonie a morţii
Translated by Romunian ,known poets there, Viorela Codreanu dhe Baki Ymeri
PILOTOS VETERANOS
Tiró un palmo de tierra sobre la tumba abierta
donde todos estaban llorando.
Ellos se acercaron en silencio a la mesa de la cena mortal
se sentaron
un poco afligidos
tomaron un sorbo de raki *
y contaron
chistes.
Toda la vida habían jugado con la muerte...
Los conozco a todos en sus:
Rencores
engaños
modestias
egoísmos
suciedades
delirios
apatías
fuerzas
debilidades
corridas
risas
lágrimas
Todos tuvieron una amada
A quién
ellos
le contaban todo,
daban todo…
En todo, sus risas
y…
nunca
traicionando....
Era
así:
El cielo
encima
de la Patria.
Nota - escrito en una ceremonia de la muerte
*raki= Bebida espirituosa de Albania
Traducido por Ernesto Kahan, Vicepresidente 1º y Secretario General de la Academia Mundial de Arte y Cultura - Congreso Mundial de Poetas, afiliada a UNESCO; Presidente Honorario de AIELC- Asociación Israelí de Escritores en Lengua Castellana; Presidente ISRAEL IPPNW – Internacional de Médicos para la Prevención de la Guerra Nuclear- IPPNW; Presidente Ejecutivo Colegiado UHE- Unión Hispanoamericana de Escritores
Hello my dear Riza.Your poem is great! Here is my translation into Spanish, Ernesto
Риза Лахi (Албания)* Riza Lahi (Albania)
ПИЛОТЫ ВЕТЕРАНЫ ( VETERAN PILOTS)
Бросим горсть земли в открытую могилу,
Не сдерживая плача,
Потом молча сядем за стол и помянем всех.
Садитесь,
Устраивайтесь поудобнее,
Отхлебните глоток раки
И пошутите.
Всю свою жизнь они играли со смертью...
Я познал всё:
Злобу,
Обман,
Скромность,
Эгоизм
Грязь,
Исступление,
Апатию,
Силу,
Слабость,
Спешку,
Смех,
Слёзы.
У каждого из них был свой любимый,
Которому
Они
Говорили всё,
Отдавали всё,
Всегда только смеялись,
Никогда не предавая...
Было
Только
Небо
Над
Родиной.
Translated byone of the best poets in our times,
Adolf Shvedchikov, PhD, LittD (RUSSIA)
*
My dear friend!
Many thanks for your emotional poem VETERAN PILOTS!
Here you\'ll find Russian version of your poem. I send my love to your family and friends!
Have a nice May days!!! I\'ll be in Los Angeles the last month, and from June to October I am in Moscow again.Friendly, Adolf
That is by hindu ” VETERAN PILOTS”, by known Indian poet Dr.Harish Thakur
GAZI PILOTLAR (VETERAN PILOTS)
Açık mezar üzerine bir avuç toprak attı
Herkesin ağladığı yere.
Onlar sessizce ölüm akşam yemeği masasına yaklaştı
başları eğik
Biraz üzgün
Birer yudum rakı içip
ve
Şakalar yaptı.
Hayatları boyunca onlar ölümle oynamıştı ...
Bilirim herkesin:
Kinleri,
Aldatmaları,
Tevazuları,
Bencilliği,
Pislikleri,
Hararetleri,
Uyuşuklukları,
Güçleri,
Zayıflıkları,
Telaşları,
Gülüşleri,
Gözyaşları.
Hepsinin tek bir aşkı vardı
Ona
Herşey anlattıkları,
Herşey verdikleri,
Her yerde sadece gülerlerdi
ve
asla
ihanet etmezlerdi ..
O idi
Vatan
üzerindeki
gökyüzü.
Tercüme eden Astrit Yaupi Hv.Plt.Tuğgeneral ( Emekli)
Hava Kuvvetleri Komutanı ( 2000-2008) ARNAVUTLUK
=================
TIRANA’S SKY ROCKETS
My Tirana
zooms from skyrockets
and has the wound of a hemorrhage
of one million and two hundred thousand of her sons
Admire the sky
at moments where the years changes
Albaniasends to her sons
fire – works
much fire - works…a sky full…out – and - out
All televisions stopped the programs giving especial news
- were born the first children in maternity hospital of our capital
they will grow up in few times
they will grew up at once and
only to flood the sky of Tirana with skyrockets
Do not cease messages and phone calls.
In five minutes of midnight, of 24th
were one million and two hundred thousand phone calls and messages directed to the sky
to that sky of fire –works
to Tirana
who sends ceaselessly
to the sky’s miss
the fury of her own
young blood.
Ajajajajajajaja
Two young stealers theft my red bike
They sell at once
And got skyrockets
That fire – works
they send to the sky laughing with gladness
ajajajajajajajajaja
I go to them
And say them to be not afraid of me
And donate all the moneys have my poor pocket
But with only condition
Ajajajajajajajajaj
To explode
In presence of my eyes
To explode
High
To the midnight sky of tonight
I will collect money like a beggar
To buy a new bike
How happy
To gaze those very new pickpockets
admiring on the sky
their flowers of skyrockets
that so magic flowers
of my bike
Now
Every
S
E
C
O
N
D
Only a second for more
And the new year comes
And the sky is full
Like then
Once upon a time
Their sons were here
1.200000 emigrants
Do not stop flowers o’r the Tirana sky...
I recognise that especial flowers bursting the sky cup
They are of my red bike
And I am so happy
Tirana, 1th of January, 01.30 o clock
ティラナのスカイロケット
( TIRANA’S SKY ROCKETS)
私のティラナへ
スカイロケットがぐんぐん接近し
１２０００００人の息子たちの
血が吹き出た
何年間の変化した瞬間の空を
讃えよう
アルバニアは息子たちに
花火を送る
多くの花火を、空はいっぱいになって、次々と消 え．．．
すべてのテレビは、特報番組を止めた
－私たちの首都の産科病院で最初のこどもが生まれ たというのに
彼らはすぐに育つだろう
彼らはすぐに育って
スカイロケットとともにティラナの空に氾濫するだ け
止むことのないメッセージや電話
２４日の数分では
１２０００００通もの電話とメッセージが空に発信 され
その花火に
ティラナに
止むことなく
彼女のものだった荒れ狂った若い血を
空が失うために
ああ
私の赤いバイクを盗んだ二人の泥棒たち
彼らはすぐに売り払って
スカイロケットを買った
その花火
彼らは喜んで空に笑いを送りこみ
ああ
私は彼らのところへ行き
私を恐れないでと言い
そして
私のポケットの有り金全部を渡す
だけどその
ああ
私の眼の
その有り様を曝すために
曝すために
今日の真夜中に高く
私は新しいバイクを買うために
乞食のようにお金を集めるだろう
空を讃えながら
新しいポケットをじっと見つめる
何という幸せ！
スカイロケットの花は
私のバイクの魔法の花
今
秒針が刻むごとに
あと１秒で
新年がやってくる
空は充たされ
そのときのように
かつて
彼らの息子たちはここにいて
彼らの
１２０万の移民たち
ティラナの空に．．．花を
私はバイクの花を見て
くすくす笑った
Tirana, 1th of January, 01.30 o clock
Translated from English to Japanby Poet Kae Morii,
poet, member of International Writers and Artists
Associationn (WAAC)WPS, IWA and GHA. Given birth in Osaka, Japan.
=========================
3 - THE ÇINAR* OF TOPHANA**
The çinar of Tophana
silent
frightful
magnificent
girded with a iron’s fence
like a tyrbe ***
- only down
at it’s feet ‘s node
encircled from tyrbe’s saintliness.
Nobody knows how old is that man
with opened chest
showing to everybody
everything
he has in belly
Somebody felt pain to that elder
elder without leaf
half missing
elder
and
thinker
somebody has settled around carefully
irrigated
and
his ax fall down from the palms like be a jar
when was thinking to cut
that branch …there…there
on his house ’s roof - tiles
Oh, how clement is the heart of people in Shkodra
like the Buna river is
during the terrible heat in summer.
Look at guts of that giant
with opened arms over the Topaha’s roofs
He don’t want to eat
don’t want to drink ;
he want nothing
but only to show
his manliness
before the death.
5th of May, Shkodra
*Çinar – oriental plane tree ( by lat. Platanus orientalis)
** Tophana – a lakefront of my birth town, Shkodra
*** Tyrbe - mausoleum over a Moslem grave
=========================
4 - THE JENNET *
Written in solidarity of hungry strike in Tirana, at October 2012
Were singing, dancing, eating choice eating ,
freshening up, splashing each other with Kausar’s** water
down of the sun,
around - chirps more selected flowers of the earth and such
nowhere being seen there.
Charming Mirdia*** on the top flight
was hosting and escorting “Shehids” *** (Martyrs)
On the gate was written in all world’s languages
- JENNETT
Close the gate, by marvelous letters
which might be transform in mother’s language
by a moment to everybody
was written :
“Herein reside the dead!”
On side of that table were
shrouds, coffins, scratched faces
the tears at all
poured for all of those
who were gladdening
or were happy mediating
down of date –palms, lime – trees and magnolias…
xxx
Twilight…
Everywhere silence…
Neither a chirp of birds
nor a dove
to fly around my bewilderment …
Who would like to be friend with me, a hen – heart human being?
At a corn of Tirana
immobilized in a tend
there are some human being going to die.
Their hearts is beating every day slowly …slowly
like a watch going to stop.
Two other of them
seeking for a speeder death
fired up the match
on their own clothes and fleshes
splashed with petrol.
Some meters from that corn of Tirana
The Prime Minister of the country
laughs, congratulates and inaugurates very – very happy
surrounded by flowers and happy faces dancing and
looking at his laughing face
like sun flowers
My Lord!
I’m imploring, give and me a strong heart,
as strong as of our Prime Minister’s heart
to find forces to laugh when
close me to be human beings insisting to die
right like did in 1968 Jan Palasch
when in his motherland
were walking the iron paws of
URSS tanks.
I could ‘n laugh like my Prime Minister
I am a hen – heart human being of this twilight
neither birds, nor my doves to whom I was fallen in love
don’t like to approach me and to fondle
Who likes to have friendship with a hen – heart human being
as I am
who could not laugh
when near by of him
in a tent
scream human beings
asking to die?
Around me speed, fast and gaily music!!!!
Around Prime Minister
The sun flowers are dancing.
Nowhere,
at least
one scream!
Perhaps I have crossed this moment the door of Jennet?
Where I left my shrouds, coffins and my tears?
Was perhaps any body weeping of me?
* Muslim’sParadise
**Kausar -riverofParadise
*** Mirdije - Arabian name, of that prettiest fairy in Jennet, which belongs especially to the martyrs
21 midnight - 22 morning of October 2012, Tirana
=================
SHKODRA PICTURED WITH BULLETS
I have a gunbelt filled with empty cartridges
I have collected them in the streets
I have collected them as hens collect worms
I have nothing to write with
In Shkodra you can not find neither paper
Nor fountain pens nor pencils
Only bread
Bread and Serbian „Zastava“ (a type of Serbian revolver)
Today in Shkodra
With a credit note you can buy just one kilogram of bread.
„Where are you going?! Turn back!
The curfew begins at eight o’clock
But you really should turn back, its better to turn back
Why? Its midday! Can’t you see?
Everyone is locked inside their homes
Turn back!“
„Let me be, please, I’m begging you
Leave me alone, I’m repeating, can you hear my plea?
I have frightening strengths that could break chains
No one in this World could stop me from seeing my Shkodra
Seeing how she looks without her laughter, without her poets, her singers
I’ve come from far away to see my Shkodra
I’ve come to kiss her.“
I’m angry and I’m weeping
I’m weeping aloud without shame
I’m weeping for my Shkodra
Where its forbidden to laugh after midday.
How astonishing…its so much as if
I’m unconsciously standing in front of this tile from my home
Now I’m holding this tile to my chest on which in reality
I’ve written with one of my cartridges
Which I feel has rotted as my bitten nails carve into
This tile from my home
Which saw me being pampered
Which saw me as I grew into adulthood
Which observed me
Admiring in silence the hairs in my secret body places…
I’m happy…Happy, because I have another cartridge left.
Who are you? Pleading for me to come inside
Afraid of any stray bullets?
Are you…Are you my mother?
Oh Mother dear, the bullets have nothing to do with me
If I were afraid of the bullets
I should not have come to be in the midst of them from afar
Just to see my Shkodra
And you, my mother.
Let me be, Mother,
I’m writing with this empty cartridge on the tile which was placed
On the occasion of your Wedding
Maybe this cartridge killed somebody
And now it is writing
How beautifully it is writing…
On the tile from your wedding
Do you remember Ma? When you
For the first time crossed over this threshold
And you were dressed only in white
The merry wedding ghost
Put this tile to remember for ever
This special day? Now
See how wonderfully this empty cartridge is writing and how
My hand is moving like an earthquake.
„Shall I come with you?“
„No Mum…turn back
Go to the kitchen and prepare me some bread and cheese
And don’t forget – a very big onion, and
Afterwards a cup of tea
I’ll not be late, but if
I’m late
Take this key and
Keep it to your chest, You
Should open my suitcase which I brought last night from Tirana, I
Left this suitcase by our book case
Just above your wedding boy where you
Used to keep my poems long ago when
I used to fall asleep as I wrote them and you used
To be afraid that others
Would tease me and my poems
On nights I used to read them, and you
Used to guard them like the panther guards her kittens.
There, Mother I
Have locked inside something white. I
Have locked inside
My Shroud.“
I’ve now finished my second cartridge.
I have strolled around the skies and seas, but if
It is decided that I die today, please
Ask me, it is quite normal to ask a person about to die for
His final request. I
Would like…Suddenly this cold to turn to Summer, and
To observe my Shkodra full of beachgoers, and me
Swimming on my back in the Banu (a river in Shkodra)
Below willows and willows
Below Shkodra’s citadel, full of eagles and seagulls, and
…My G-d
Take my heart, You
My G-d, If
You exist anywhere, come and
Take me but
In Paradise, please
Let me rest somewhere near Shkenderbeg.
Oh…So many shootings over the streets of Shkodra
Somebody is killed by a stray bullet, but
A wounded person is shot with 4 bullets
In hospital, on the operating table whilst Doctors are
Sewing his wounds.
Astonishingly this Spring
Neither the Linden flower nor the Magnolia has flowered
Nor the Mimosa this year and nobody has remembered that
Spring is the season of love.
Last night
Especially last night there
Have been
Awful gunshots, terrible gunshots…
I’m walking like a somnambulist through the streets of Shkodra
Strolling around the empty veins of my birth city
It seems that i pain the criminals
And suddenly, in their hearts, seeing me almost crazy
Clemency awakes, some such delicate feelings of
Clemency can be found in the criminals‘ hearts who
In these moments
Have decided not to shoot me and I
Don’t know why?
Oh my brothers – criminals, You are free
To shoot me. Kill me my brothers, we
Are of the same blood and you
Should be sure in your hearts that nobody will revenge my death
I’m disarmed and I’m giving my honest word that I will not
Give my last breath
Cursing.
Still no one is shooting at me.
Tomorrow in Shkodra
A multi national troop force will come
Full of males.
This Spring people have only artificial flowers in their homes.
Very few flowers have bloomed this April or
At least I haven’t noticed them
In fact I haven’t seen a single flower anywhere.
Mother, I can’t bear to see Shkodra
Without people without joking but
Full of gun shots coming from who knows where.
Tomorrow
The helmets will pass below the railings full of beautiful girls
Very poor, very hungry.
Mother, now I’m late and
Your tea is cold and
Maybe you have taken out my shroud.
Its for me, Mother, this shroud, You
Should go on to live another hundred years
Yes…yes…Another hundred years to show
For your handsome son – your son whose
Last will before his death was to swim on his back down the Buna
Below the citadel, below the weeping willows that stroke like violins.
You should explain to everyone
That this poor poet, your son, has gone to Paradise
And rests in a place somewhere near Skenderbeg
In Eternity
And is thinking, my son
Only for Shkodra
And only enjoying a certain kind of music
The clanging of the sword.
No record found.
No record found.
No record found.
No record found.
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