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Fatmir Terziu Poem
By Fatmir Terziu
A tear
dripped
rolled.
A Globe
fell
It upturned
Under the ray of light, a precious crystal
Came out of mother’s heart that night.
It rolled out of fear,
It appeared out of joy.
My mother’s tear!
Still as if shocked
It rolls for unknown motives,
My mother’s tear,
…that diluted tear!
I saw my mother when she stilled a tear,
It dripped in that dark year…
A tear,
A globe
My mother’s tear!
A tear still glassy in my heart…
A tear with the weight of the world
A tear which calms the others
A tear which holds the rays of the light.
A mother’s tear!
A tear that washed the office suits
A tear that wetted the rags of time
A tear that spilled to wash the unwashed
A tear which stood up to the enemies
The tear of the mothers!
A drip of a mother’s tear
Brought by God to be spilled over
Cradles,
Chambers,
Window embrasures
As many times as it is necessary.
The tear of mothers!
Their only weakness
A tear for humankind.
Copyright © Fatmir Terziu | Year Posted 2013
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Fatmir Terziu Poem
The church of the eyes
By Fatmir Terziu
Those just out of the egg,
The confused yellowings
Open their wings, take an unreasoned stance,
Only their mothers understand them.
They open their light wings
Over fleshy bodies, carefully breathing.
Pressed against the blossoming buds,
The rose petals
Guarded by the thorns.
The aroma of the flowers, the varied colours, everything
Embraces the reason of love in the church of the eyes;
the prayers have started.
In the garden, the last preparations are performed
By all the living things,
It is the time of multiplications
And love has raised its head.
Over newly blossomed roses
Where the buds shade the egg hatchlings
A snake slithers towards the nest
Aiming to end
the newly born dreams.
The thorns are privy to the wrath of the sun,
Bringing from above the whole curse of the sky.
The feast restarts soon,
When the snake fleetingly burns in flame.
Copyright © Fatmir Terziu | Year Posted 2014
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Fatmir Terziu Poem
Dr Fatmir Terziu
An early form of prayer
spiritual strength,
a condition. Patches of land
underneath tasselled feet
become rhyming music;
thought, conscience, art;
in happiness, perdition, pain.
When they touch up there
hands, feet, bodies, minds
become one.
Albanian Valle, Ancient Valle!
This beautiful form of art
A bust on the tip of the forehead
ready to awaken the
timelessness at all times!
Note: Albanian Folk Dance
Copyright © Fatmir Terziu | Year Posted 2016
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Fatmir Terziu Poem
By Fatmir Terziu
What could I tell a Londoner about the Fatherland? The adverts
Are copies of the unscrupulous inscriptions in tombstones,
Just as we are copies of the bestial goods,
Of our egoistic laughable thoughts,
Like fortune-telling using broken coffee-cups
which contain pieces of the phantasmagoric fates of our fear,
The yellow pages of history.
What could I draw to the attention of a Londoner,
The early flight of the sleeping thoughts,
I pity the forgotten contemplation,
I fear the future views,
The never-formed ideas stir my soul,
Six hundred years have I been drinking from the sea of thought.
I shrink in spirit, shy away from walking the streets,
Hide amongst the whispers,
The adverts of the land, adverts for the Father-land,
Advice about unbrushed teeth,
Instructions about uncut nails,
Adverts for baby nappies, adverts for Mercedes,
Adverts for slimming pills, packets for slimming belts,
What could I say about the Fatherland to a Londoner...
Copyright © Fatmir Terziu | Year Posted 2014
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Fatmir Terziu Poem
By Fatmir Terziu
In Victoria I always see fog
In the stubborn glass that always paints me
In Victoria I hardly have time
To even throw a glance at my hair.
I pass my hand very quickly
Over my half-naked-head
And instinctively
Focus on three hairs standing spiked.
Only in Victoria do I have some time
To see myself elegant
Only in Victoria am I deciphered
On the Zeiss sunglasses I expand to an elephant.
There thousands of movements are extinguished into standstill
The glance of my eyes remains frozen
Tiredness, upset and overexertion
Lost, half-asleep amid the clamour!
In Victoria I leave my signs everyday
Mornings, Afternoons, among the routine signals
I leave the space and enter disorder
Like a blade of straw in every season.
Copyright © Fatmir Terziu | Year Posted 2013
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Fatmir Terziu Poem
(A river ‘wave’ for the Laureate of Literature Ivan Bunin 1870-1953)
By Fatmir Terziu
The stars leave slowly,
Leave and are faced with the ‘polluted’ air,
Leave, just as all leaves decompose,
On the wet days with autumn rain,
white sheets like the cornea of the eye,
are wrought on the variable lid under the retina,
it is the fermented song of life,
on which was spent the entire labour,
of the poet Laureate Ivan Bunin.
The stars leave and surprisingly rise,
‘Below the open sky’
Where the poet designed since youth.
Hence, at a vegetal rhythm
the breath of life alternates,
in order to give life to the verse,
and in the philosophical silence of the mind,
its skeletal roots sing,
and in the cold of the bronze,
lies the metaphysical theatre of weather.
The stars conduct in darkness
The song of the night in Paris,
In Moscow the refrain is numbed,
the sound of the horn in a wedge,
peacefully styled a frozen bronze,
over the Life of Arseniev,
with which Ivan made History,
when he led the Nobel to Russia.
Today the stars themselves are hospitable,
The words and verses, probably chosen by the poets,
The rust of the bronze on the froth of the river Oka,
The trees chosen every day seem to clean
the pleasant drawing of the light and water,
Collecting his thousand-page life’s-work,
bent amongst the quiet waves of the river,
that reveal, intimately his hidden epic poem.
Copyright © Fatmir Terziu | Year Posted 2013
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Fatmir Terziu Poem
By Fatmir Terziu
I was hoarse. My hoarseness was not felt. It was foreign
in front of the mirror,
a smoky glassy word
slimy like the mouth of the green devil.
When even the birds cursed the country borders
with their hoarse sound
they remained blind.
We were hoarse. My homeland was hoarse.
The hoarsness became the prototypical wound
of the Beautiful Albanian Language.
Copyright © Fatmir Terziu | Year Posted 2017
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Fatmir Terziu Poem
By Fatmir Terziu
Read the lightning cloud!
In the sky stabbing exchanges
Where amid the still smoky sadness
The sluggish revealing of letters begins
In the rampant turning of the tearful eye.
Somewhere amid these feelings
Icy particles begin to grunt
Starting for the funeral parlour
And making the shovels ready.
So flaming and smouldering
It burns the headlights and the Ferod in the wheels
The kiss that remained saddening
In the stuck aorta valves.
Copyright © Fatmir Terziu | Year Posted 2013
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Fatmir Terziu Poem
By Fatmir Terziu
How I would have liked to have learned the language of stilettos
Mornings,
noon,
Evenings
Mondays,
Fridays…
and especially Sundays
If only I knew their language
They have a melody in their rhythm
They float slightly off the ground
And then as nails they attack the floor
Stabbing as deep as the veins, the arteries
Ah, I didn’t learn their language, for God’s sake!
Long stilettos, short and small ones
They all have a unique language
Stepping on concrete, dry earth, or sandy ground
The stilettos continue their typical movement,
The type of stilettos that only God knows how He made them
Multiply in number everyday like a species of mice.
I know that the stilettos belong to the women
So to understand their language care is needed
Stilettos are just as strong and durable
When holding delicate feet,
Or even when like bottles the feet weigh down on them.
For a long time I have wanted to learn the language of stilettos
Even though I do not understand a single stroke in the dictionary
For a while I have wanted to learn something
Since I was a boy,
Since I was young…
And even now that my eyes twinkle upon them
Oh. How stilettos wake up something in me
And you should know it is not a secret
Without stilettos it seems as if the river will takes us
And the earth will decay us quicker…
Stilettos have an amazing language
They break stones and wood beneath them
But I do not know if when old women wear them,
Do they cause the same fuss?
Copyright © Fatmir Terziu | Year Posted 2013
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Fatmir Terziu Poem
By Fatmir Terziu
No mountains, no hills
Only fields
Light breeze, a little bit hot
Rain that makes you shower
London.
Worlds centre, non-sleeping metropolis
North, South all Worlds united in one point
English, that beauty sings around the Thames.
Roads on Earth, underground, sky, ocean
Multiplied everyday capillaries
Start and slow down in London.
Days, months, years, centuries
Witnessing the history freely in books, museums
Relaxed people.
Here is my language among other hundreds of languages
Spoken in London’s streets, schools and communities
We thank you for life, London!
I, a digital movement in this surge
Rush to socialise with the time
Thankful to London!
Copyright © Fatmir Terziu | Year Posted 2013
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