Autorėt e perkthyer ne Turqi !

Autori i poezise dhe befasise poetike Rumune Dorin Cozan
Autorja e njohur Corina Gina Papouis! Mrekullia poetike midis orientit dhe moderrnizmit
Poeti bashkėkohor Qipriot -Turk Ahmet Ómeraga
Seref Ozturk
Adelina Dardha,nje ze i ri qe perthyen shtigje poezish
Autorėt Pėrmetarė
Artisti i madh i Folklorit Popullor Vasil Ēuri
Autorėt e perkthyer ne Turqi !
Prezantimi Poeteve : Lediana Paja
Prezantim i talenteve tė rinj :Ivana Dervishi
Seria e Autoreve Qipriote (Turqi)
Poetja Bashkėkohore Nese Yasin
Poeti bashkėkohor Atilla Elüstün
Impresionim i autorit Patrick Sammut IWA Malte
Kumte dhe esse
Agron Shele WPS Sinan Vaka WPS
Impresionime nga takime Kombetare dhe -Nderkombetare
Deklarata e Prespes
Imazh i Rreme
Ese dhe vleresime per autorin
Beyond the Grey Curtain
Ahmet N Murati Midis lirikave dhe zjarrit tė pashuar pėr dinjitet dhe liri kombėtare!


Agron Shele 




My muse!

What beauty do you hide within twilights?

What dreams you gave birth to beyond the forest glades?

What songs did you sing  in the deep gorges?

What rays do you seek in the gloomy evenings?

My muse!

 I stand at the silent crag.

Beat the silence through the eternity absorbed.

I see everywhere the old sunset

Everywhere appears dawn revived.


My muse!

The years and the grey hair like the  mountain crests,

brightening under the hidden fogs.

The spirit carved by  the thin pen,

Trembling, breaking, far away in the remote places


My muse!

I wonder, did you come as a curse

  Or as a play played dizzily

I see the eyes of the girl hidden

 And the tears transformed into an emerald.


My muse!

Like a holy soul impels induces neglect forgetfulness

Why poets we became in the morning

Under the vagrant step the day passes by

In our apparitions life




2. Poetry 

 My dreams remained there,

Like thousand of icebergs in the boundless ocean

My mind penetrates beyond in the skies.

In other skies, journeys of poetry.


My dreams remained there,

In the vernal nights, full of stars.

Words that cause the soul shiver

And weaved the magic linen

 My dreams remained there,

like the morning light.

With the yearning of autumn

And the drops of rain, melancholy.

My dreams remained there

Over the archs of rainbows, with meaningful colors.

The lucky day , hope and merriment,

arched paths of poetries.


3.  Nė Olimp vendoset drejtėsia 


Zeus promised the eternal justice,


stopped for many centuries


Sinners caught the sinners

the holiest of presents for the terrible “Had“


 Everywhere supporters applauded absurdity(insanity)

And everywhere they tightened chains of innocence.




For the heart,

wondered everywhere the cursers . . .

but, alas, the ill-fated,

 could not force it out of the soul.



   5. monastery


 Bells rang again . . .

Again someone has passed away!

The last words, the only ones . . .

All remained at the monastery.






How close we were yesterday!


How far we are today!


How many broken hearts,

How many deeply grieved souls,

How much tears and how much yearning,

The big crossroad stops!







The autumn forgot you, O Lake, not I.

I came near you as always,


To feel your moisture.


The waves flow under the feet,

They twist and gossip;

Then turn away again

Melt away into the deep abysses.


The swallows flew away

People went away too,

Only the songs of the gulls

And my solitary steps

(The memory is written in the shapes of papyruses,

To refresh the past memory….).


Lengthy exhausted waves,

Twilight over your glass,

Shiny, cut stripes,

Thoughts that set out to route,

Thoughts that never stay at a place…






I cursed the rain for the expelled dream,

The sleepy eyes sought your hair,

The smile,

Negligent steps.

Your shadow melted in the dalayed night.


I sought you everywhere

throughout the tracks of life,     

  You lost somewhere...,


Perhaps into my yearning.

You silently took refuge.


             Translated by Dritan Kardhashi


Petro Dudi

1. Breathing rock

This course

                     like the ancient one -


This tongue of man

                               how bitterly it bites;

This shadow of dusk -

                               cries, the barking of dogs,

This heart of man

                               how much it darkens.

O cruel dream,

                               human mess,

Generation after generation

                               you did not cease listlessness, mourning;

                               you did not cease defamation,




O fate of the world,

O my fate,

What is this humiliation?

Why all this punishment?


Suffering corrodes the dream,

 robbery spoils the hope,

Crime steals the sun,

betrayal – the ideal,

Hatred smudges the sky,

calamity blackens the home,

Desecration pollutes the soul,

the dead mourns the living.


I look for justice,

deception sets a trap,

Darkness overtakes today

even more than yesterday.

I seek grace,

 everywhere everything appears deformed,

A hissing candle,

I cry where are you?

Where are you fate of the world,

You my fate?

Like the Scops owl,

I hoot entreatingly.

To the Money ruler

 all villains

 dedicate each-others’ lives;

They think they  wear the golden necklace,

While on their throats

they fasten the noose.


O fate of the world,

O You, my fate,

What is all this fright?

What is all this ugliness?

Crowds – fans

staring at the ‘THRONEhorse’,

“The best” is chosen

  and he becomes more evil than the evil.


All the time the tragicomedy 

                is played

At every moment




               are deformed.

The cursed,

                o God,

                who blessed them?

O fate of the world, 

O my fate,

Isn’t there an opportunity?

Isn’t there a star?

Struggling I searched

        among the clouds and the lighting bolts,

The spirit of the generous people

          was my guide.

For a moment I rejoiced

   by a whisper of the DAWN,

Because this old wound

                 has a cure.

The spirit of the generous people 

   will guide my JOURNEY,

In this life,

   there is ANOTHER LIFE.

That is why I remained a missionary

          of the dawns, innocent.

That is why I remained with the spirit like a sea

          and the hope like a gull,

I remained a warrior

         and a singer in the storm,

That is why I remained phantasmal

I remained

           A BREATHING ROCK.                                       




3. Pain


In the shadow a silhouette,

An attempted assassin

                              without a pistol,

Tracks the passers-by of the night,

To kill the others’ honor,

To kill her own honor.

The night whispers:









Too many synonyms.

The whole portrait:



Translated by Dritan Kardhashi




3. Miradije Ramiqi, Pozharan, 1953, KOSOVO a poet and painter, is an already well-known artist. Apart from her participation in numerous fine arts individual and collective exhibitions, she has published the following books of poetry: “Shivering Colors” (1981), “Rain in the Mirror” (1990) and “Kingdom Whisper” (1990), “The  return of the broken silence” 2008.





1. On the Crossroad


Now I don’t know

 yet have I descend within myself


Or I have gone out of it


With one more tear

I have taken this road

To get there once

Without getting old from waiting


On the crossroad

From where I ’m being chased thro ugh wrinkles

That the longing steadily increases them


New I don’t know

Have I gone out myself

Or I’m closed in it


2. I’m Undressing the Nightgown


From where in this white room

Barricades  made of cats’ nails 

At the Studio starts to drip the sadness


The blood my first neighbor woke me again

From the winter sleep of tanned skin

To continue my travel through landscape


Which was stopped here many centuries ago

Unfinished drawing in black canvas

To undress the nightgown


The  silence to turn into a candle I wonder

To go out of the wall that walls me.




While I was painting your portrait

A tear mixed the  colors


The glass is dry


A tear of pain

Love of color

Was absorbed by canvas



The glass is broken



While I felt your presence

A tear is mixing colors

Where is your poor portrait


I wonder, what happened with thirsty.



4. Tomorrow I’ Il die


Tomorrow I’ Il die

If you  say so

With the morning’s goodbye

I’ll   take the goodness of life

And  with the newspapers


Latest news

Then the greetings of the books on the shelf

I’ Il take by myself with the pain of soul

Tomorrow I’ Il take the death with myself



The first Event

Burning In Flames


A map of my blood

Compiled with pains

Wrinkled face through the Time

Your portrait (dis) appeared in centuries

Freedom My pure  craving

Burnt color in painting

While melting in flames

My soul in eternity

In expectation

With a broken whispering.


Enrieta Sina 

I broke the seven mirrors



In seven days I lived with my feeling for you

I had to break the seven mirrors to pieces

Because they were making me look ugly

The beauty was taken by you and left underground in the darkness



There you were finding your maturity

While I was feeding your maturity tree

Searching for my light...  



2. To my children


If I have gathered the dream forgoten years ago

It wakes me up and hunts only the voices that offer tranquility

If I could not reach the white mountain top

There are thousands of ideas  resting within you


If I happen to wake up with swallen and dried up eyes from tears

It is because the night for me brings just that longing for you

If one day I happen to depart this life

The eyes of my soul in the threads of your hearts will remain....



3. You do not know


My fingers becave cold reaching for your jacket

Up to your hair with profume

You stared me differently as if a black cloud was over me


My heart wanted to know how yours was beating

While that beating was not normal that evening

Everything was no longer important for you


My soul was migrating but could not find peace anywhere

Was gathered into a golden circle within the beauty of your eyes

But I do not know, there it could not find its place


You do not know if you'd be able to fly in my blue sky

It is something that I have not experienced myself

In the magic moment you create and make it grow

But you do not know! You do not know...






             Translated by Dritan Kardhashi


       Biographic notes


Muharrem Kurti was born in Smolice of Gjakova in May 30, 1963. He attended the primary and secondary in Gjakova. Later he followed his high school in Berat, whereas he attended his academic studies at "Aleksander Xhuvani" Elbasan, in the Faculty of Albanian Language and Literature.

After his return to kosovo in 1987 he was imprisoned and sentenced with 19 months for antagonistic propaganda.

He began to write poems since when in high school in Berat. He has published poems in Albanian newspapers and magazines. In the literary competition held in the year 1981 he was awarded the first price with a volume of poems.

In addition to poems he writes stories, essays and poems for children.

His published books are:

-“Evening Greenness", published in the year 1998 publishing house "Rilindja" in Prishtina.

- Flower of return" published in the year 2000 publishing house "Marin Barleti", Tirana.

He is a member of the Association of the Kosovo writers. Actually he is the head of the Literary Club "Gjon Nikoll Kazazi" in Gjakova.

He is the director of the primary school "Sylejman Vokshi" in Gjakova. 

He has written three other books that he will publish them in a short future.

In the year 2008 he was announced the best author of the city of Gjakova.

He lives in the city of Gjakove, "Konferenca e Bunjajt" str. Nr. 59. Telephone mobile 044 607 625




      I wonder



  In the loneliness that fate bestowed to me

  I always met with people of winter

  I met people of the night

  I met icy people


  I never met people of light

  I never met people of dawn


  I wonder I might become

  A wintry night

  An icy loneliness

  With the name of emigrant…



  Elbasan ,1985







 If somebody

 Seeks freedom

 I can grant it for them

 From the prison cells!







Today I am not in migration

I do not stay with the ices of the roofs in the road


Today I am not an asylum seeker

 As s'ha ne hajm merzi


 Today I am not homesick

 Nor do I wrap up with the autumn’s leaves in my loneliness.


 There is no rain in my eyes today

 Nor do I anxiously remember for a phone call 


 Today I am not in migration

 Shrunken and frozen like a glacier...



 Gates of entering and going out


 My gate

 Has a strange entry and exit.

 Its entry is down.

 Its exit up.


 But I don’t know 

 When is it easier for me?

 When I go down or when I go up?...





 Don’t you sing, 

 If you know not 

 How to mourn


 Don’t you mourn, 

 If you know not

 How to sing...


            Translated by Dritan Kardhashi



Lumo Kolleshi




The tars weep

Bring me a glass

To gather these tears


Someone whispered:

“The bee died”

I ran but I never found its grave.


Old clock

The hands strive to eat each other

Time remains in the eyes of the blind.


Modern hairdresser’s shop

Old heads not far in the distance

Push each other in the line for wigs.


Split ripen pomegranates

In the traffic lights of the boughs

Cold rains melt away upon them.


One night I slept with the snake

I felt terribly cold

In the morning I had become Laocoön.


House of a spider

The fly comes to deliver official well wishes

A house or a grave?


Loaded with stars

The date’s bough broke

The stones of the alley get wounded


No permissions for building in the offices of spring

The swallows

Inaugurate the illegal houses.


The bloody night

Butterflies come to die in the light

In my studio.


A beggar in the street

Called me a “Gentleman”

While in my pockets I had nothing but my soul.


At the rock spring bed

The thirst put its lips

The beautiful girls broke the ewers.


Peace often hangs the bloody shirt

At an olive bough

How many young seedlings do not grow to become old.




When you are absent


You look for me there where I am not

I await your failure to come.

Only mountains never meet

They separate passes and gorges.


I am amazed with my heart

How does it not cease beating in solitude?

A flower blooms in the cold wind

The rainbow opens its door in the rain.


In the eclipse of the sun I search for light

And I do not know where I shall look off

You enter suddenly, and the grudges

Melt away like dew in May


Dhimitėr Miti WPS




Never having the chance


A due moment?!

A happy life?!

A beautiful meaning?!

And never have a chance to kiss?!



The swallows came


The swallows returned from the warm lands

And a stick they brought for me as a present,

New glasses for my wife,

New epitaphs for the grandmother.

And some oil for the key of the door

Which has begun

                            To become rusty

(Taken from the volume “Knocking in vain”)









The hi cup

has tied us everyday,

as a pigeon without wings ,

as a phone message

that needs not the words.


This sound from the deepness of heart,

hints your name inside me

as the twittering of nightingale,

that your brains steals in Spring.


This hi cup like a charmer,

brings you briskly closer to me,

hearing your spotless diction

makes you think of stream swirls.


But the marvel abides no more

and the hi cup just vanished away.

Your image dwindling through it

is dissolved somewhere far, far away.


Now I am left again forlorn,

full of blaze you kindled in me

I am astir ready to trumpet for the hi cup,

so that it can draw you back to me.



                               MY FRIEND.


Your voice sounds hard to me

as an endless alarm,

as a blow that disturbs your sleep,

as a cry of a man dying .


You speak from behind the rails,

as guilty you are and that’s what you pay.

Your nails try  to catch after memories

that life in its store doesn’t keep.


Don’t ask from me any respect,

you have never thought to be a friend.

Your memory just makes me somber

here’s the line of my love, THE END!

January 2002




I love you,

but you still remain a dream

to be dreamt of only at midnight.


I love you ,

but I don’t feel you so close,

as so close you are everyday.


I love you

with thousands words that we never said,

which unite us again.


I love you,

because your worry

is my worry.


I love you,

but you never

have cared about it.


I don’t love you.


January 2002


     DON’T !



Don’t turn your back

with the hatred of a grumpy person.  

Don’t hurt the gap that we dug it up.

Your love is  like a shadow

which I follow and never give up. 



Don’t beg for what I can’t give you!

Don’t trap what is not your own! 


You are not mine.

My body,

yours can never be .


January 2002





You keep up as you have ever been,

the years sent the old age into exile.

Freshness reigns in your eyes,

though life never gave love to pass.


I see you walking proudly,

among people like a silent victor.

The youth, the biggest word ever loved

on every cell of yours is carved.


Your body perfectly forged by God

which is envied even by a cypress,

is kneeled only before Christ,

to ask for more grace inside.


But you have what a man needs the most,

the youth, by which even life is blessed .

That which Eve’s sin banished us

is gifted to you by God all



     Anila Mihali



To give birth to verses



Late from the verse that

So much tormented me,

I enter into the warm bed sheets,

I am sorry sweetheart,

I murmur in his arms

Covered with his body

And the warmness of the bed…

I am sorry, it was a difficult delivery.





The child plays on the computer

He enters into a castle, looking for a princess,

He already wins the game, and becomes a king

How soon he found happiness, how soon!


The adults

They go on looking for happiness

The day disappoints them;

The night pardons them a little

If they were to turn back the childhood,

The gods of the old world!



There where the borders divide


There where the borders divide

… Up to there the mother sees her daughter off

The shadow of the sharp beam

Like an apple divides the day…


Drunken steps continue their way

The eyes stretch the hands of glance

And they ask:

“Until when with tears and yearning

We shall pave the paths of emigration?!”



Oath of love


One at a doorsill and the other at a door

They kissed thirstily as before.


The years forgot each other

Love did never forget what it promised.


The moment shed light to a memory

It rode the love.


A long way full of suffers

Heart broken to pieces…



One at a doorsill and the other at a door,

They did not burst like the glass of wine.





The knocks of the stick on the ground

Like the beats of the clock in the room

Like the beats of the heart in the chest

Like the drops of rain under eaves.


All the ‘tic-tac’ sounds disappear

At the endless road

Arduous you scold ferociously

While resting upon the stick…



The flowers


The rose, the pink, the snow flower,

Which of them I hold closer to my heart

I cannot say which.

I feel pleasure in cutting it.


I marvel beyond reason

When they offer it to me

The rose, the pink, the snow flower…

Which of them is more beautiful?

I do not know.


The beautiful thing becomes more beautiful

Only when it comes from you

I do not know what made me drunk

The flower, the hand or the heart that broke…


Rustem Keko

 To mother


You are the sweetest

  of all women in the world,

  you are angelic,

(Merlyn Monro).                                                                       

Mother, trouble-laden,

joy and tears together,

you ruffle my hair,

 “Are you tired, son?


The Father 

my dead father,

Looking at me with a smile.

From an old portrait.

I lowered my eyes

because of shame. Lacking spirit...

 “Raise your eyes, son!”

 Full of affection 

Father’s lips spoke.

 Tears, under the eye lids,

  became dry.

  my cold heart,


    Warmed the father.


The icon of Jesus with the heart like a Sun


 In the death bed                

 I languished for three days.

Scythe of Death scythed


The heart of Jesus,

mbi vete mė ndehu,                                                                

nga thonjt’ e shtrigės,

me gjak, mė rrėmbeu.


With the bread of Eastern,

Like a bird he fed me.

with the red wine

Dyed my heart


     In the verge of the adolescence


    Like a pearl of dew, under the sun

of time,

the childhood melted, with a shawl


And the yellow fluf, upon

the velvet  lips,

             mocks the sweaty and exhausted



A vague Memory

     I would never



the kisses

 Under the pines covered with snow,

  Neither  the words

full of passion,

Under the Moonlight,                                                                                                            




 Rose upon the  subsided


  Yearning and   heavy


  Memory of Serene.


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