Vegime
Mundohem t’i jap mallëngjimit tim trajtën e fytyrës sate, Kujtimit të asaj mbrëmjeje Nëntori, Kur të gjeta prapë, Pasi kisha vite duke të kërkuar. Dhe prapë më ike, Nëpër gishtërinj, Si era që lëkundte zjarrin që kisha ndezur buzë bregdetit në jug-lindje të Tokios, Që më kujtonte një tjetër bregdet, Kur unë e ti ishim bashkë. E një tjetër zjarr. Se kur ishim bashkë, Ndjeja njëkohësisht, Paradoksalisht, Edhe kohën që do të na ndante, Edhe pamundësinë e kohës për të na ndarë, Se nuk imagjinoja dot, Mëngjese që zbardhin pa ne. A vdes për MUA?, më pëshpërit, nëpër gjumë, “Jo”, them, “por vdes për NE”. Paradoksalisht. Por ti mbase nuk e di, Por unë vdes edhe vetëm për Ty. Nuk të shkrova më, Jo se të kisha harruar, Jo! Por se nuk doja që...
Read MoreHer memories
Pushing a little bike, With a basket on the front, She carries her memories. “I got this bike from my childhood friend”, she says, Without looking at me. “He didn’t want to give it to me for a ride, But I asked his mom, And she told him to lend it to me.” In the cart, she carries a basketball, “I like to have you in my team” I think this is the first time she admitted About an activity she wants to do with me. “Because you’re the only guy who actually passes the ball To a girl, I appreciate that” I think this is the first time I see her with straight hair. Everything is changing, And the patterns don’t serve anymore, I can’t wrap my head around it. How come that I came to Japan, I traveled through half of the world, Running...
Read MoreDied at thirty, buried at sixty
I feel it in my bones, The coldness that the weatherman, Predicted for a week from now! I feel it on my messed-up knee, That I shattered years ago, On a hiking accident. When did I become so weak, so fragile? To feel pains that haven’t happen yet, To let people’s opinions, Become my reality? When did they break!? And, I’m not talking about my knee, Or my bones, I’m talking about my mind, My spirit. What happened to the calcium of my soul? What Sun can give me, The much needed, Vitamin D? I’m in my thirties, But I already carry a lot of dead weight, The trees of my dreams, Have become dead log, They block the view, Of long-lost hopes and dreams, And I can’t keep drinking from broken glass, And smoke past cigarettes. My poetry is bad, ...
Read MoreDon’t waste a prayer on me…
If you have to pray, Pray for the little girls and boys, Pray that they keep their dreams, That they stay young at heart, And walk the path of life, with a gentle touch. If you have to pray, Pray for my old neighbour, Who every night puts on loud Buddhist melodies, In hope of finding salvation. Don’t waste a prayer on me, darling, Don’t. I’m like a dead tree, That doesn’t feel the sour rain falling on it, Or the autumn leaves dancing around. Like Elijah I have to see death, To feel alive, Like dreaming of a post-apocalyptic San Francisco, Or being awakened by a Japanese earthquake, And 20 floor buildings shaking like a kitchen set. It takes a lot of talent to be happy, And I have none. I put my wrist on my ear, To listen to the whispers...
Read MoreTorn
Dear God, I know you told us, Not to ask you about tomorrow’s food, Cause you haven’t asked us, About tomorrow’s sins. But I’m looking at this angel sleeping on my arms, And I’m wondering, About tomorrow. I’m torn between so many worlds, My Albanian roots calling, My Japanese life, Asking me to stay. Only yesterday, I flew in through Germany, Where I once grew up, Fleeing from the monstrosities, Taking over the Balkans. God, The day before yesterday, I played with the toes of my high school friend. We were sitting in the park and I just reached to her toes, And discovered a wormhole through time. She’s married now, And I had to assure her, That me reaching down her toes, Didn’t have any erotic hidden meanings! My...
Read MoreCigarettes After Sex
1. I asked her if she liked, Cigarettes after sex, She said, “Ufff, I hate smoking” I said, “Wow, Slow down girl, I’m asking about the band” She laughed at the way, I twisted my words, With double meaning, Like a blue devil. 2. I had painted in her mind, A picture of us smoking, After potentially having sex, But she hated smoking, And she might hate the sex as well, I thought to myself, But that won’t be anything new, Would it? All there remains is Despair, As an answer to the existential dilemma. 3. We made mad love that night, Without strings attached, And we had a lot of “Cigarettes after Sex”, Before, during and after it. 4. Bukowski was right, Poetry is what happens, When nothing else can happen, When all you can do, Is to try to melt your submission, Inside...
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