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Best Poems Written by Fatmir Terziu

Below are the all-time best Fatmir Terziu poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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By Fatmir Terziu

A tear



A Globe


                   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



                             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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The church of the eyes

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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By Fatmir Terziu

How I would have liked to have learned the language of stilettos






                                 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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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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Advert for the Father-land

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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The open sky over the Oka

(A river ‘wave’ for the Laureate of Literature Ivan Bunin 1870-1953)
Nga 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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By Fatmir Terziu

I would have wanted for us to iron our thoughts together,
When the rebelling angels catwalk amongst the icy clouds,
whilst promoting the required fashion,
as they give in to lust,
I would have desired to have been within the existence of the word 
Where the Earth holds us in her soul,
Where the sun and rain have fed everything:
centuries, years, months, days, 
the trees of the erased goodness,
and love is transformed
into a house where spiders are entertained 
whilst being anointed with an orgasm. 
But you were, and I think you felt, bad, 
You pushed me away slowly and slightly every day.
The collected thoughts of your pockets,
Under the force of the unremembered word,
The hope of life evaporated,
The noisy offices had no order,
because some breathing occurs that is stifled
by the evil of the world,
and some expensive thoughts are not just 
for the eyes of the World...
Ah, even you had become privy with the officials,
Orphaned thoughts crawled from plaza to plaza,
Saying that someone had left your rope outside,
As he wanted everything to go sour...

Copyright © FATMIR TERZIU | Year Posted 2014

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By Fatmir Terziu

Poetic city of the verse
You remained from birth to death
Body and lips wet
Never feeling thirsty.

From far the green crown
Comes and combs in your eye
And you hold it in your lap
Singing it songs with longing. 
The breeze descends mornings
From the gorge of Ladorisht down
And then lays among the rays
That the sun nails down.

The aroma of apples is brought by the valley
Winter, summer, autumn and spring
And who never tried your charcoaled trout 
And didn’t remain queued in the restaurants.

Poetic city of poets
City, symbol of cleanliness
White, days and nights
With the heart of verse.   
(Struga  city, Macedonia 2013)

Copyright © FATMIR TERZIU | Year Posted 2013

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By Fatmir Terziu

No mountains, no hills
Only fields
Light breeze, a little bit hot
Rain that makes you shower

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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Albanian Valle

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