Poetry: Kujtim Morina

Exclusive: Poetry from Europe and other Western locations: Curated by Agron Shele
Kujtim Morina was born on 1972 in Has district/ Albania. He graduated from the University of Tirana for Maths (1994), the University of Shkodra for Law (2004) and has a Master’s in European studies from the University of Graz/Austria (2008). From 1999 to 2009, he worked with international organisations in Kukes region. Since 2009 and onwards, he works in the Albanian diplomatic service. 

So far, he has published the poetry books: “Drunk under the fog”, 2007, and “Return of eyes”, 2010 and a short stories book “Next time” (OMSCA-1 2015). From his literary translations, it’s worthy to mention: “The Gulag Archipelago” Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (Princi Publishings 2012) and the poetry books: “Song for my name” by Linda Hogan, (OMSCA-1 2014); “The soul dances in its cradle” by Niels Hav (Denmark), OMSCA-1, 2016; “Antology of Kuwait poetry” (OMSCA-1,2017) and  “Persian Roses- an anthology of Iranian modern poetry”, published by Klubi i Poezisë, Tiranë, 2017. In English, his poems were published by the literary magazines: The Sound of Poetry Review;  LAKEVIEW, International Journal of Literature and Arts; The Galway Review”; Prosopisia; etc.



To Syria

Oh Holy Land,
even your heaven is blackened
by the rising smoke of war.
Light candles at any corner
in memory of the dead,
and in disobedience to the regime
  - but no violence.

Man cries for falling of a tree,
let it alone another human being.

Syria,
fighting with yourself -
one arm strikes the other one.
Go back to your own.
Don’t you listen to the prayer song of Sami Yusuf:
“silent words”, heartfelt words
for thoughtful children,
lonely children
and ruined cities.

How many people are now dead,
deprived of enjoying their lives!
How many millions spend overnight
without a shelter!
How many widows
confront their fate every day!
How many mutilated,
are left with broken dreams!
How many! How many! How many! ...

Oh Syria!
The stems of dead lilies
will sprout up again.
Cities will awake from the ruins
and power held by blood
will lose its sway and soon decay.
Then the country should be recovered
with love for human being
and not hate.


The fire of friendship

We should feed it with solid stuff.
The lively flame to stand for hours.

Then to make and remake it again.
The hands can't be warmed in the dry ashes.

If either one leaves, the fire isn’t made
until they get together, the magic fails,

It risks always to be vanished,
thus, by divine spirit is furnished.


Vision

Blood swashes rise from ground to the sky.
What a huge disaster has happened there!?

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