Best Albanian Poems
Women all around the world
a tribute to you twirling
everyday work and struggles
A woman, wife, mother, chauffeur,
nurse, doctors, lawyers, engineer,
short order cook, baker, teacher,
poet, artist, librarian, soldier,
sister, mother in-law, grandmother,
great-grandmother, daughter,
friend, peacemaker, dancer,
dog-walker, ... and a child of God.
Sappho, a lyric poet,
Joan of Arc, a heroine of France
for her role during the Lancastrian phase
of the Hundred Years’ war
Helen Keller, deaf and blind, an American author,
Eleanor Roosevelt, an American political figure,
diplomat, and activist and the First Lady of the United States
Amelia Earhart, aviator,
the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean
Mother Teresa, "Saint Teresa of Calcutta," Catholic,
was an Albanian-Indian Roman Catholic nun
and missionary, place herself completely at the service of others
A woman, mixed clay that was once rough as sand, dropped, spattered, and molded one that was flawed with the disorder of humanity, forgiven by the drops of crimson.
But the most important one, Mary Mother of Jesus
Why?
As I follow the footsteps of my son
My heart breaks at every word said
against Him
Why? Why?
As my tears run down my face
I vision, tenderly cradling him in my arms
when he was young
Why? Why?
Does it have to be this way?
They only loved and worshiped Him yesterday
What has happened in just a day to make everyone hate him so?
Why? Why?
As I take every step behind him watching him suffer so
My legs want to fold underneath me of the pain in my heart for my son
For every blow he takes, for every time he falls
Why? Why?
My eyes swell and my nose runs
from the suffering that my son is enduring
and I am not allowed to get near him to comfort him in my arms
Why? Why?
Please, let his suffering end
Endure and rise again
3/21/2015
Mary, witness to suffering with love and faith in "The Passion of the Christ"
It’s better to know who your enemies are,
Better to know who your friends are,
The poet who praises our evil books,
The little girl who smiles at Red Santa,
The elephant that shakes the furious baobab,
Better to know who your friends are,
It’s better to know who your enemies are,
The pharmacist who never believes anyone,
The cinema that sells sweets to grand ma,
The supermarket that lacks politeness on Monday,
It’s better to know who your enemies are,
Better to know who your friends are,
The journalist or the housekeeper,
The curious baker or the nice hairdresser,
The monkey in his cage or the Albanian doctor,
One must often smile at one’s enemies,
You often have to lie to your old friends,
To the footballer, to the snake charmer,
To Queen Claude, the insolent young factor,
The muse who loves you, asks you everything.
She cooks fish and rice,
her unfolded hips
pushing all into place.
Oils, and aromas,
train buds to lap at shadows.
The marl of her hands
turns bowls of smoke
into lemon and butter.
I won’t get to eat the spiced Mackerel,
but I imagine my scaly head laid
in a tabby cat’s saucer.
I dream of small-boned piquant desires,
the lick of her fingers,
the coral curl of her tongue
as If she were a cat and I a fish in a dish.
She wears dark clothes, a peasant garb,
black skirts below her knees,
a lace shawl when she goes to church.
She is Greek, a Turk
an Albanian. She is an Etruscan vineyard
for orphans. A mother to a lover.
Her gourd is full and spilling.
In her hair black horses leap,
a few stout gray mares
amidst the mane.
Tides turn and swirl
through turtle-shell combs.
She’s not a disciple of pretty.
She is earthenware to hold my hungers.
These words are just terracotta shards.
What she is, is an alcove for halvah.
Apart from Holy Days,
she works at a grocery store.
Where she bakes grape-filled suns,
and moon-glazed pastries
for those in need of the olive yield
of her light.
Tomorrow
If tomorrow I’ll be late for a coffee to "The Greek"
Do not wait
Above Olympus of pain I make portrait of Mother
In the loneliness I knit nostalgic mosaic of Father's
To the Children we build together the statue of longing
Let we kiss a lot Grandmother but not let us kill the exile
If after tomorrow I will be absent for cappuccino to "The Italian"
Wait me a bit
To save desperation about homeland
I will ride crazy within Dante’s circles
While daughter of Tyro’s King wound words from haven
Kills me every day and Kosovo in daylight
If today again I’ll not come to “The new club”
Don’t think that I don’t want
But there are gossips, rumors and fog
And I pray for everyone, even for those who only speak Albanian
Wait me to the field of the church where our childhood suffering
To make toast of tears; why we haven’t had the beautiful youth age
They say
?There are a million ways?
To say I love you
In this day and age?
I could only find
?In my computer’s brain?
The words
to say I love you?
In 53 languages
of the 10,000 languages
?Spoken on this planet
Someday I may be able
?To say the simple words
?I love you?
In all know languages?
This will have to suffice for a start
So I will say it
?Loud, and clear?
Just so you understand:
I love you (English)
Mein tumse pyar karta hoon (Hindi)
?Tu Tane prem karoo chu (Gujarati)
?Ame tomake bhalo bashe (Bengali)
?Me tula premkarto (Marati)?
Hum apse mohabbat karte hain (Urdu
?Mein thoda prem karanga (Punjabi)
?Man Dooset Daram
(Persian)
?Ana Ahabik Yanooni (Arabic)
?Havala (Hebrew)
Yongchon(Chinese)
?Aloha (Hawaian)
?Cinta(Indonesian)
?Dangshinun sarang hayo (Korean)?
Ajo (Japanese)
?Kasih (Malay)
?Phom tirak khun krap (Thai)?
Akoay Paginghe ikou (Tagalog)
?Toi yeu ong(Vietnamese)
Renmen (Creole)
?Jesuis L’amour voies(French)
?Liefdle (Flemish)
?Estoy amor tu (Spanish)?
Yosono amore tu (Italian)
?Estou o amore tu (Portugese)
Dashuri (Albanian)
?Maiteizam (Basque)?
OBHYAM (Bulgarian)
?Ljubav (Croatian)
?Laska (Czech)
?Jeger en kaerlighed du (Danish)
?Ikben houden van jig (Dutch)
?Gra (Gaelic)
?Ich bin lieben tu (German)
?Agape/eros (Greek)
?Ami (Esperanto)?
Armastama (Estonian)
?Rakam (Finish)
?Envagyok szeretet te (Hungarian)
?Elska (Icelandic)
?Ejekirin (Kurdish)
?Milestiba (Latvian)
?Meile (Lithuanian)
?Eu dragoste tu (Romanian)
?JHOBOEL Lubush (Russian)
?Elske (Norweigan)
?Easka (Slovak)?
JBYBAB (Serbian)?
Jagdan karlek du (Swedish)
?KOYATH (Ukraine)
?Benin sevi sen (Turkish)?
Ahava (Yiddish)
Ngingu u thando ungu (Zulu)
...Hoender - Afrikaans, Pulë - Albanian, ???? - Arabic, ?????? - Belarusian, ???? - Bulgarian,
Pollastre - Catalan, ? - Chinese (Simplified), ? - Chinese (Traditional), Piletina - Croatian,
Kurecí - Czech, Kylling - Danish, Kip - Dutch, Kanaliha - Estonian, Manok - Filipino,
Kana - Finnish, Galiña - Galician, ??t?p???? - Greek, ??? - Hebrew, ???? - Hindi, Csirke -
Hungarian, Kjúklingur - Icelandic, Ayam - Indonesian, Sicín - Irish, ?? - Japanese,
??? - Korean, Calis - Latvian, Vištiena - Lithuanian, ??????? - Macedonian,
Ayam - Malay, Kylling - Norwegian, ???? - Persian, Kurczak - Polish, Pui - Romanian,
?????? - Russian, ???????? - Serbian, Kuracie - Slovak, Kuku - Swahili, Kyckling - Swedish,
??? - Thai, Tavuk - Turkish, ????? - Ukrainian, Gà - Vietnamese, Cyw Iâr - Welsh,
????? - Yiddish, Huhn - German, Frango - Portuguese, Poulet - French, Pollo - Italian,
Pollo - Spanish, Chicken - Maltese, Chicken - Slovenian, Chicken - English.,...-=.....-=..-=..-
=..............-=...-=....-=....-=...-=.............-=...-,...-=.....-=..-=..-=..............-=...-=....-
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=...-,...-=.....-=..-=..-=..............-=...-=....-=....-=...-=.............-=...-,...-=.....-=..-=..-
=......HA! HA! HA!...for old times sake...lol...Your Kidster, Your Majesty.
The News: Lack of Love
We couldn’t read the news, nor decode a word
Nor the cries and prayers among the relics of hearts
I didn’t understand why freedom couldn’t taste Albanian
I couldn’t believe that we started hurting animals
And I committed suicide because I believed, wanted to breath
Me, or…repeatedly my shadow, or someone else
Those, I gave a hand and received poison and bullets; rusty words and iron
We were killing; bloody hands remained above the hell of love
Letters and verses torture unstoppable dormant conscience
The kind of people who soaked homeland, faith and soul of forefathers
Bloody infant of tears that don’t dry squirms yet today
And we remain orphans of love on the roads of the world
I don’t want to believe in animalistic nation that suffers from misdemeanor offenses
And, I don’t know why I hang myself through the pathetic hope of remake
What kind of damnation sucks the tired pieces of motherland cells?!
On behalf of who would be said my self-hanging, if there still exists tomorrow!
Pause of self-hanging through the national romanticism is like a homeland without love
Man, only fragile fiction of broken dream as ancient mosaic,
Oh, I need a pause to inhale tobacco smoke,
To not believe that we are hurting animals, oh my Lord...!
Correspondence
...in Kosova, instead of my dream, I found a grave in which I place flowers every weekend ...
Islam Morina
(A friend who went back from Denmark in Kosovo immediately after the war on 1999 to find his girlfriend who was shot dead by Serb military machine)
If you remember Kosovo and graves
Albanian immigrant spirit closes into loneliness
And I bite the pain in white letter
You my young friend
Do not ask for the photo of the murdered childhood
Do not daub the wound of a resurrected muse
Measure the sunset with a first step
Do not promise flowers to the spring
Kiss the cold soil of my homeland
And do not seek for love even within the books
She is an Angel.
Ceraphic chants among us hum,
She has compassion for the poor,
Yes,she truly is an angel.
She experienced a "call within a call",
To serve the poor,sick,vulnerable,
She has compassion for the poor.
Vocal proponent of Albanian independence,
Mother Teresa,from a well of family sacrificed,
To serve the poor,sick,vulnerable.
Counselled other nuns to create a community of angels,
Took vows to a life of poverty,chastity,obedience,
Mother Teresa from a well of family sacrificed.
Angelic kids in innocence glow,
Mother to destitutes,needy and good to all,
Took vows to a life of poverty,chastity,obedience.
Heavenly beings are fond of her,
Ceraphic chants among us hum,
Words are droplets of honey and care,
Yes,she truly is an angel.
Rhyme Scheme-ABA' bCB cDC dED eFE fAFA'
Contest:Angels.
Sponsor:Debbie Guzzi.
21/12/2016.
Monologue of loneliness
Do I still look like a man my dearest?
When I seek a bit of life and soul prays into orphan seasons
Could you paint the light of my eyes that parch?
Why you remake my soul in the loneliness of monotone mosaic?
Can you touch a light or the sun above my black darkness?
I try to hide the pain and you plant only love
Do I look like a shadow or a ghost when I suffer and breathe Albanian?
I cry and smile, fall and wound, but love over and over again
The dream Pegasus
Tonight my eyes do not make and feel the light
As a century of re crucifixion
To ride Pegasus in a injured dream
Muse comes on as bride without veil
In distress I close even the pipe- hole of the soul
the flavor of pain does not ruin the spring on Olympus
Oh remained the space that do not violate from anyone
Sacrifice of blue rhapsody in a autumn lethargy
Painful prelude to the contract with God
Tonight I want to suffer until the bone
Albanian cardiac vein to screech and sing through the Illyricum
Infinitely to love and never hate
And what about if I die asleep from fatigue
Does it matter why crutch fate in survival suffers bruises
Zeus heart do break where we planting and harvesting tears and nostalgia
Slave to love in feuds of this anti life
Captive of goodness above pantheon of a concrete symphony
on your wings bring me to kiss Hestia Pegasus
Almost all aborigines are Australian
And are apparently also Albanian
Although an amateur actor and atheist
Allegedly also an arsonist
Asked an adjacent Albanian
Are any Albanians Australian
An ardent and arrogant activist
And actually an able archivist
Abruptly answered accordingly
All answers are always affordably
Available at advisory areas
And an agent adept at arias
Answers abruptly affirmative
And adds an adapted alternative
An anatomically accurate assessment
And Albanian Australian attestant
An aborigine and an Australian
Aren’t actually actual Albanian
29 June 2922
Contest: Begin With A Letter
Sponsor: Angela Tune
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
Walking
down the street
i saw you again
blue eyes
dark hear
little tan
calm
peaceful aura
heavenly smile
gorgeous
divine
part albanian
part german
part african-american
part jew
god
is great
because
of you...
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.