Fatime Kulli (Albania)

Exclusive: Poetry from Europe and other Western locations: Curated by Agron Shele

Fatime Kulli, poet, writer, publicist, journalist, Albania

Fatime Kulli was born on 1957 in Durrës. She finished her higher studies in Social Science for Psychology at University of Tirana.

Fatime Kulli, is an author of 20 books, poetry, prose, researches, literary critics, awarded with several prizes inside the country and abroad: Award "Radio Ulcinj" Montenegro (2000). "Golden Pen" for the book “The Sea sinks inside the shell” in Kumanova, Macedonia (2001). First place for the most beautiful lyric poetry about love, on Balkan Poetry meetings in Korça (2003). “Golden Pen” in Athens (2004).

Second place, at the poetry meetings in Napoli, Italy (June 2004). First Prize at the Meeting of Women Poets, Vushtri June 2008, Kosovo. “Skampini” Prize on Balkan Poetry Meetings in Elbasan (14 March 2009). First Prize in Balkan  Poetry meetings in Korça (2010). She has participated in several international poetic meetings. Author in several anthologies of poetry, in many countries, such as Greece, Germany, France, Macedonia, Kosovo, Croatia, Romania etc. She has been awarded at the Academy of Sciences, Tirana (14 June 2014) with the title "Ambassador of Peace", as the poet of Çameria, by the Universal Federation of Peace.

PUBLICATIONS IN POETRY

Fatime Kulli has 11 volumes of poetry published over the years, which have been praised by the critics, among which are:

1- Leave me the door open

2- Naked on the keyboard

3- Masturbation with the sun

4- I want my heart as a mirror

5- The naked fevers - Albanian- Italian

6- Spark of ember

7- The sea sinks inside the shell

8- Sweating rose

9- 111 dirty words of love

10- Womb of Fire

11- Shoes of fog

12- This is the 12th poetry book with the title “Beyond the shadow”

1-THE CRASHED MOON…

On August of the wild flame

I squeeze broken colors…

Shadow’s tranquility makes me tremble

Hanged on the day fingers.

I gather the sun flakes

A water-flower whisper.

The air cord gets cut off

On the eye of pain…

In the glade of tears

I eat the weight of the remaining breath…

I feel the breath of shadow

It drinks the air of my song

And ignites me

Cutting the veins

Of the broken moon…

The sky has gone wild

At the disfavor of fruits

The Earth-cave

Strawberries.

I follow the steps of shadow

It touches my bones

Troubled ones…

The leafs of softness

Make plants flourish

At the steps of the rock

That makes the N-I-G-H-T-M-A-R-E flow…

  

2-MY WHITE DESPAIR

They humiliate me, they call me “quean”

They draw my portrait with a paintbrush of nail,

They spot me like the black sheep separated from the herd...

And accuse me for writing avant-garde poetries,

What should I do, that my poetry is what feeds the soul

Not only for me, but also for women with childish smiles,

That read my poetries secretly from their men

Like “The apple of sin” cause of the disgusting moral,

That triumphs across the crowd as an honest one.

But what should I do, that my sinful poetries

Scare even the shepherd,

Who after reading these poetries with thirsty hunger,

Runs with his stick in hands to punish me...!

The disgusting moral tries to rip out my veins of feeling

To kill my poetic spirit, to change its destination, colours...

But I’m not afraid of him, I write screaming,

I tack in every verse cell, like a bloody flower

For love, for the woman’s eyes crying, wounded,

For the tired soul, exhausted from the desecration of morality.

The angry notes of the preachy crowd tremble,

My fingers dive in the metaphors of life,

Where the membranes take fire in the verse of poetry...

The voice of God, tells me: there is life in darkness,

There is hope in the desert, light in the blindness,

Spirit of love, there is balance in the universe,

Even the wounded sounds pulse in deafness...

My white, strong despair doesn’t tremble

Even as they insult me, offend my morality...

I am a WOMAN, I keep writing poetries for love,

The one pure, attractive road that gives me life,

The soul scream that in front of the verse makes me die...!

3-UNDER ACROBATIC SOUNDS

The breath gurgles with a poisonous taste

Through the narrow path of the sun

Covered with the snakeskin

Like a dreamer for the blooming of EGO...

The air spreads and becomes depressed

Under the sweet storm of deception

The forks keep chewing newsletters,

Nailing eyes strike the sunny ones...

The darkness has sharpened its claws,

Tearing the deaf dreams apart

The capillaries of mind

Wounded in their desire clash

Against the false grace...  

I strive to escape the thorns

The walls of servility ambush me...                             

 I live within the roots of wisdom

The forks dance under acrobatic sounds...

4-STORMS

The Twenty-first century

Wanders orderly over the victims

Exploding

The blood drops flow like a river

On the world screens…

My motherly soul suffers…

Whispering the wailings and injustices…

I see even the worn sun

The candlesticks of the new human have been discolored

 The shoulders of soul can’t bear the horror!

We see little snakes, large, greedy ones

Turning into vampires in front of humans…

The soles of feet with blood traces

Trample on the pain of thousand women around the world…

Shshtt, shshtt... shshtt....

Keeps murmuring the love

That has been silently killed…

The soul of women roars from the abyss:

Expunge the rancor, turn off the envy, extinguish the infidelity,

Bring the light to our eyes!

The scarf of love

Tie it around your soul, human,

Shine light in the space, and goodness for the humans!

Often they pray and beg in front of the icon:

St. Mary, pray for the lives of our children,

Heal this century of storms…

Punish the evil, the greed,

The sale of freedom of small nations!

Bless the peace for all people in this world…

5-UNDER THE WATERS OF SUNSET

I tied the tears behind the sunset

To feel the smell of longing

The veins of time have been dimmed of brightness,

 I drag myself at the rings of silence

That break the ancient stones

Towards the flow of tempests…

I tremble when the wind shakes my tears

A childish mirror confuses me

When thousands of smiles play

Hanged on the innocence of brightness

Of the mythic girls…

It comes in my mind an old dream

Which I harvested at the sands of water

Flourishing in the soul of flowers of silence

I tremble when the mountain stones

Talk so delicately in the house of my soul,

They beautify my body with necklace of happiness,

Inside the pages of the calendar diving

And I sail under the waters of sunset…

Trying to keep the most beautiful dream

So the world of greatness may not lose the continuity.

Setu, June 2018

Hana Shishiny (Lebanon-Egypt)

Exclusive: Poetry from Europe and other Western locations: Curated by Agron Shele

Hana Shishiny ( Libanon- Egypt)

Lebanese  nationality  living in Cairo Egypt by marriage . Studied art and paintings  I Lebanese college  " Alba" Beirut . Graduated interior design   from American  University  in Beirut. Writing  a free page in a literary  magazine (in arabic). Having my own furniture  in Cairo   practicing decoration . Writing poetry in both language  English and Arabic

Finally in peace

Let me rest in peace, one of a Swarm

Had been haunted by painful scars

Bleeding my pride with sacrificed freedom

In this calm darkness after loosing home and heart...

Let me enjoy this peace in collective grave

Crowded with many other believers of peace

Crushed while hunting for their dreams of sun

Fighting to pay life for political fees…

So finally this mortal cold of peace

Ignoring a life lost in believing zeal

leaving home, nation in lifeless breeze

Hell brewed our past,our future for faked deals

Let peace enlightens our Christmas tree

I came to you my lord

Kissing your feet..wallow in your blessing bound

You’re still bleeding, you’re still hurt

On my lips. The bitter taste of your eternal wound

IT IS almost December. .The trees are greener

The joy in the Air, filling cities and hearts

Carols resonating… shiny stars flicker

Flowers and Laughters, a world of beauty and art

How come, My Lord, you’re daily crucified

Your blood can’t dry, your heart never stopped

With every tear of orphan, you continually cry

With every crying widow, your pain reaches the sky.

HELP them, Help those children collect hopes

Help refugees hang them on their homeless trees

Try to built with them, dreams of home

And let peace enlightens our Christmas trees.

The freedom’s door

How far is the freedom’s door

When your chains shackle your soul

And your ego restrains your steps

To go after your heart’s call…

Stumbling on a storming ground

Autumn moves your desert’s sands

Chilly winds push you around

Like leaves swirling toward the end..

You sailed far..into the waves

Solely on shore i follow your songs

and beneath the gloomy clouds

I do crave your rays of sun…

You made ne live in a world of wonders

Dawns sparkle in every night

Enjoying endless spring in winter

Planting seeds in every light…

How would i look for freedom ‘s doors

Far from all songs..all birds sky

That love Symphony, is all i care for

And joining birds, to freely fly…

Setu, June 2018

Eva Kacanja (Albania)

Exclusive: Poetry from Europe and other Western locations: Curated by Agron Shele

Eva Kacanja

Eva Kacanja was born on October 7th, 1971 in the city of Kruja, Albania. Her poetries are introduced in several magazines and anthologies and have caught the attention of literary critics. She has published the following volumes of poetry: “The statue of the soul”, 1995 “At the bottom of your heart”, 2004 “Scent of soil”, 2011 Eva’s fourth volume of poetry is in the process of publishing. She lives in Durres, Albania with two children.

Poems by Eva Kacanja

1-    WHERE IS MY VERSE?

My poetry roaring inside of me.

My poetry yelling inside of me,

moss of pain and love

in the humid walls of my soul.

Where I am and where I go,

where I get lost through my days,

where metaphor strikes,

and I, confused in thousands of distractions,

lost in thy daily bread !

I beg you God,

My verse give me this day.

2-    A new longing

Here comes the fall again,

The storks migrate,

In my garden a new longing

embracing the trees thaws.

Through leaves, hair gold wear,

Here comes the fall again,

This thirsty lip flares,

This new longing tortures me.

The eye burns this new longing,

The white dawn the dream fades out,

Here comes the fall again,

You’re far with escape, oh how far.

Where can I migrate this new longing,

To the mountains or to the moon,

Here comes the fall again,

To sleep my dreams surrender…

   Conversation with God

Sleeping down a rock,

napping light through leaves

Awoke in me,

While silently praying.

Forgive me God,

But so lonely I feel,

“Pick up a flower,

And fold it in your heart”

I’m scared God,

The clouds hide it all,

“There’s no rain without cloud,

There’s no flower without it”!

4-    In the wine cup

In cup of my wine

your bread you dip,

I feel your thirst

Warm of my trunk,

Ember from fire stolen

This glance of yours.

I weep,

Don’t know why I recall

That last supper

Of your crucifixion!

Try to talk,

But you just hush,

Although in your silence

The whole forest talks.

Suffocates my tear,

Breaad, wine dipped,

Breaks the pine arm.

By breeze corroded…

You swore, you say,

To yourself you swore,

But on your lips

I pledged my kiss,

Inside my cup

Your bread hurts…!

5-    I’m scared of you

You’re scary sea,

You scare me,

The only one!

You call me,

Seem quiet,

Amirror,

Agreen half moon,

Drops,

Like eyelids of a baby sleeping,

You tempt me,

Your noise thrills me,

But I can’t come!

I’m scared of you

Lying in the shore,

Your tounge

My foot touches!

Setu, June 2018

Entela Safeti-Kasi (Albania)

Exclusive: Poetry from Europe and other Western locations: Curated by Agron Shele

Entela Safeti-Kasi ( Albania)

E mail: ekasi2004@yahoo.com

Albanian PEN President and Ambassador for Peace

Albanian poet, novelist, translator and essayist, was born in Korça in 1975. She is graduated for English Language in 1998.

She is awarded with scholarships by the Council of Europe and the British Council, in UK, ‘Human rights and education’ in 2004, and by the Council of Europe and the Academy of Bad Wild Bad, ‘Intercultural Education’, in Germany 2008.

She holds the title European trainer, recognized by the European Commission in 2010, and she is actually working for PHD into Albanian studies within the focus into Albanian language and literature. She is the author of many books into Albanian and foreign languages, actually she is holding the position of the President of the Albanian PEN, and she is also a well known intellectual in the cultural life of Albania. She has worked for the board of IN search Committee of PEN International from 2012-2015. She is awarded national and international awards in literature, and her works are translated in different languages and are published in many literary magazines in Albania and abroad. She also writes for the Albanian journals and daily press within the focus in social movements and cultural analyses. She is the author of ‘Nameless dreams’, ‘The time for the horse’, ‘Gloomy night’, ’The Harvest of Christmas’, ‘Metaphors cant’ be given”. She is the translator of the contemporary poetry collection, Metaphors can’t be gifted, and she has also translated ‘Memories of Mirrelle’ of Eugene Schoulgin and ‘Musica Mundi’ of Casimiro de Brito. She has also been invited as the guest writer by different Universities in Albania and abroad, focused on Albanian literature movements, freedom of Expression in post communist societies and human rights.

She is awarded with the Certificate of Gratitude from different organizations and municipalities in Albania, Kosovo, Montenegro and Macedonia.

She is awarded with the Literary Prize of the Association of the Albanian Writers in Macedonia, Skopje 2008.

She is awarded amongst the PEACE Poets in Izmir, Turkey 2007.

Her poetry is translated and published in different anthologies, magazines and reviews into Macedonian, Bulgarian, Turkish, Italian, Spanish, French, English and many other languages.

Not I

The seagulls beyond that tiny shining silky tunes

Underneath the skin where I am writing the words of the broken dwelling

There in a distant island dancing with elves

Coming by the grey icy eve on the chamber door

A crown of pearls on your stunning head is still raining

You take the scent and go

Far away from every limit

Bounded with the pains

Old cities are cold and golden

You enter silently in every page

But not I,

you can't keep my hand you simply can't

It’s like the feather of that seagull beyond the misty waters of distant islands

You can't see beyond the silky words written on the clouds skin

You simply can't go the blue paths underneath the soil where all seeds are sleeping

Until the spring comes

And makes them plants of freedom

You simply can't 

On your head there is always that raven

That crying of old times

Your guarding master

And I remain here in this shelter of grass and pearls made from the grandmother

You are forgetting that Lady

She created life...

You simply can't

TALKING TO THE FLOWER

As you can’t keep this forgotten ray

This word bounded by flame, cry

And the cloud of an empty sky falls wherever raining

The unspoken sound of silence plays inside the stone

So I silently go off as the raven feather

And there I am falling now and then

Insider as I am and not I,

Birds are falling every where

Now and then

 “We the next island” (!)

Coming with the wind

In the Sunday dinner

When you see the next island existing

We, the deserted island…

I talk to my flower

The unsaid words of rain

Hidden in the limits of nonexistence

That watering mouth

Waves and waves innocently bone and flesh

The grown pain, ancient illness of gloomy steps

If I don’t step there is a mirror in my wonderland

A lost inch of heaven into yours fallen eyes on every inch of the skin

I stay on the same soil and plant another flower of sadness

As the wind could come and makes it a poem or a salvation

So I said everything naked in front of your lilies

When you say and accept love and death the same

The beginning of every world and all hidden worlds

So I wrote every word every sound of silence

By the solid drop of water

And if there is no sea or ocean

Could I stay paralyzed in any shape?!

Could I be not sad, not mad?

The most difficult tag song and flame

So I send you every form of cloud, every colour of that rainbow

Every weigh of sand, soil and stone, every plant,

And all the solitude

Of words

Remaining

Not I!!!

A poem

Setu, June 2018

Elvira Kujovic ( Germany)

Exclusive: Poetry from Europe and other Western locations: Curated by Agron Shele

ELVIRA KUJOVIC ( Germany)

ELVIRA KUJOVIC was born in Novi Pazar –Serbia. She has studied English Language and Literature and Law. She is a mother of three children and lives in Germany. She started to write in 2013 and issued two books of poems. The first book was published in Berlin in 2016 and bears the name (Ein Gedicht schreit auf aus meiner Brust) The second book is published in Belgrade –Serbia and bears the name (Love and fear). Her poetry won an award for poetry in Italy. Her poems are translated in many world languages, especially English and Italian. Also, two new books will be published in these two languages.

To the drowned

The sky is sunny and blue,

I see the light and you look gray.

He’s mine and yours,

But for me the joy

And for you, the punishment.

The Sea is sad,

Waves are deep.

She’s the prettiest

Tombstone for you.

I’ll get my feet wet.

And I can feel.

You’ve arrived,

The heart is not shrink.

Free from humility

Are you all, a

To God’s door.

You are heaven’s inhabitants

Says the Qur ‘ an.

Free from humility

Are you all

From The God, received.

Woe to the survivors

The compassion

From the people.

BLACK WORLD

Black bird, black world.

everything goes out and dies,

everything stands still.

Nothing it doesn’t wait for,

everything has got stiff.

There is neither cold nor heat

everything that was alive it died

and what was dead, now lives.

Why do the birds fly

and where?

Why the clock ticks,

what does it want,

and there the time goes,

when everything stopped.

And the pain disappears

it turns into nothing.

There is no black hole

in the Soul,

which torments and hurts,

It doesn’t exist anymore.

Will there ever be light?

and when it comes,

for whom it will illuminate?

I HAVE LISTENED TO THEIR WORDS

I have listened to their words which

saddened my already afflicted heart.

I listened to the cries of their lips

which they did not to anybody tell,

hidden and unspoken they stayed.

I listened to the cry

which the ears suffocates,

their words and exhausted hope

which their heart reached and transmutes

the sadness into the story

I watched their tears fall down

and their hands

wipeing them one by one.

I saw a shiver in their legs

which makes them fall

watching the persecution and the fear

of the young human beings

taken as the herd of  the Kurban rams.

They bent their heads

without voice and

their tears fell,

they died,

while the beautiful grass

waved.

Like the sheep,

the wolf grabed them

bite its teeth

into their throat

and I listened

as their sighs went in the sky.

I saw the life in their eyes

and a lot of sadness found.

Setu, June 2018