Kujtim Morina – Six Poems

Kujtim Morina foto 2Kujtim Morina is an Albanian writer, translator and diplomat. He lives in Kuwait. Morina received Bachelor’s degree in Maths, and B.A. in Law. He earned a Master’s degree in European Studies from the University of Graz/Austria. Morina worked with International Organisations and in the Albanian Diplomatic Service. Currently, he is serving as Albanian Ambassador to the State of Kuwait.  He has published books of poetry: “Drunk under the fog”, 2007; “Return of eyes”, 2010 and a book of short stories “Next time” (2015). He also, has translated and published: “The Gulag Archipelago” Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (2012), “Song for my name”, Linda Hogan, poems, (2014) and poems from Niels Hav (Denmark) and Gabor Mandy (Hungary). In English, his poems were published by the literary magazines “The Sound of Poetry Review” and “LAKEVIEW, International Journal of Literature and Arts”, etc.


Now that you no longer go out

Now that you no longer go out
because of your illness,
your world is as far as your eyes can catch
through the window,
and a sea of memories
which come to your mind, disorderly.

To me, you are still at that coffee bar
with your brandy on the table
waiting for your friends,
or telling stories of your life
like oneself seen in various mirrors.


That light

The passing away of a man
is like a burned out lamp
in a big city.
The other lamps keep illuminating
even that dark corner or midpoint
that is not figured out
if that light was or was not before
until someone
replaces it
with a new lamp.


On the sidewalk

Young girl
who cleans the leaves of the autumn
on the sidewalk, in front of your courtyard.
You are collecting
the past summer’s memories
that are grinded by the time’s mill.

The tree half-striped
in the backyard of your house
reveals your intimacy
when you get out to the balcony.

Young girl,
wearing a grey tracksuit
like the sky of this autumn.
With your easy-going move
you ease the walk of the passers-by as well,
before they get locked in their own shelters
where only a dim November’s light goes in.


Troubled water of the river

Troubled water of the river
is life, don’t despise it.

Troubled water, not a stagnant one
Human intrigue, not a sleepy world.

The troubled water rushes forward the river,
washes away everything with the force of water.

When it gets filtered, it will become cleaner.
Without new inflows, it would have vanished.


On my Birthday

Sadness
on my birthday!
because of the unrealised dreams.
Higher I raise them on the sky,
sooner they lose in the air.

The bale of wishes
becomes outdated instantly.

What should I do with my dreams?
Shouldn’t I sow them
like plant’s seed in the ground?
To take care of them to germinate,
to deny themselves,
to find their paths through the darkness
and come up into the daylight.
Then they grow taller and taller
until they become like trees
to look up at them.


The Youth that is leaving

The youth that is leaving
is like to have a look backwards
when you have made
more than half of the way.

It is at the restless dance
of the used-to- be shy person.

The youth that is leaving
is at the added desire
to confess memories,
to get back in touch with the school mates.

It is at the suit and the tie
which you are wearing more often recently.

The youth that is leaving
is at the tries
to find back the lost love affairs
or to fall in love again
like the last beginning.

 

 

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