Poetry: Kolec Traboini (Albania-America)

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KOLEC TRABOINI

Kolec Traboini, Albanian - American poet and writer, a journalist by profession, originates from a patriotic family Gojcaj of Traboini of Hoti. His father, Palok Traboini, was a teacher, a publicist, insurgent and secretary to Dede Gjon Luli. Kolec Traboini, after completing his university studies in 1975, worked at the Cinema Center of Albania. On 10 January 1991 he organized an anti-communist rally in front of the Tirana National Stadium in support of democratic processes. On January 16, 1991, he published in RD No. 3, where he demanded the removal of the Communist star from the National Flag. He emigrated to Greece where on April 10, 1993, he founded the Albanian Newspaper "Egnatia". In 1995 he emigrated to the United States, and lived in Philadelphia, Boston, Washington DC. Author of dozens of documentary films, 30 poetry books, prose and journalism. Traboini has won several national awards for books and documentary films.

By decree of the President of the Republic of Albania, no. 10653, dated 15.11. 2017, Kolec Traboini awarded the title "Grand Master".

THE WOMEN’S TEARS

Don’t cry, my love, don’t cry

Though the tears, do have a function

They clear the vision

They make you feel the fresh air

So as to make you fall in love

With the tulips and the heavens

After the last rain drop has fallen!

If the temptation or joy, defeat you,

And in your chest, there is a mourning squeeze,

Wanting to break away like a bird from its cage

Then, and if you cry, please tell me,

And please, please, save the last tear drop

for me

I will collect them,

From all women of the world

With them, then, will make

A pearl necklace for the Sun.

Boston USA 2008

HEART – SUN & RAINE

(for all those who have roses in their hearts)

Heart, you know to choose the hearts,

Entire your life - after their - running

But, your heart is impossible to choose

Remain only to donate it.

……………………….

I come to your door

stand before your eyes

because the eyes are the door

to enter in the spirit - you say

and me the same thing happens

if I see your beautiful eyes

little stop and I go inside

full of desire - to see the Sun

or, or, ... to get wet in Rain...

2015

DON’T LET LOVE DIE!

Midnight December slipped down the steps

With Her hair down and scrapped face

As in a pagan death

I am a lonely witness of your death

With a lit cigarette

That can barely warm the last second that won't go

There is no one to witness my lone less

Now I can sit alone thinking of you

Everyone sleeps

The arch of my hand caresses you image

The space you take of the darkness is small

I feel your slow breathing

Just this, only this

This is how little love life has allowed us

Somewhere in the distance a scrapped chest sings a song

A song about something that is long gone

And can never return

A song of something precious...

And then silence comes to steal away words

In the eyes your image has shriveled

Teeth pull back hatred

And the pain of the heart grows

They want to take away the beats

Of your heart and you cannot endure this pain

Shoulders feel heavy with burden

Eyelids tremble like leafs floating in the water

This weight can break trees

The way that a bone

Broke today from your chest

Releasing a blue bird with broken wings from sufferings

Flew in the horizon drunk with feelings of freedom

He knows to where I am

But he falls on the ground breathless

In the sidewalk of madness where winds harden the faces of people

That feels no love

Because they have locked up love in a prison inside their chest

I cannot find a path where people can love without fear

While I seek to release the pains of my wounds

The night is indifferent

It wipes away every memory

Of yesterday

By establishing the rule of silence

By putting out lanterns of our souls

And adding the constraints of my heart

The night drags around the streets of the city

I push it away pointless

She drags with madness

Careless If I anxiously await tomorrow

I have a burning rose in my lips

Beats ripping through my heart

And I have nothing to offer

Except a bouquet of stars this night

The moon hangs over your head

And a kiss for tomorrow

As sun comes up

Under the burning cry of Neruda

Don't die love, don't die

Tomorrow you won't hear more than a sad song!

Dictatorship Time

Albania, Tirana, 14 December, 1988

Setu, September 2018