Alban Bala

alban-balaAlban Bala was born in Lezha (Alessio), on 24 May 1970, where he completed secondary education. Next, he started studying medicine at the University of Tirana, but dropped out in 1991, for being involved in the student movement which brought the fall of Communism in Albania. From May 1991 – to August 1993, he lived in Italy and Germany. Afterwards, he came back to Albania and studied Communication Sciences in the Department of Journalism, University of Tirana. Coming from the background of a journalist, he founded the first Public Relations Society of Albania, and the Albanian Media Institute. He lives and works in Tirana. His main works are: Semafor (Traffic Light), Lermë të heshtë (Let me be Quiet), Vullkane të përgjumur (Sleepy Volcanoes),  Ikje nga shtrati  (Bed Escape), Qyteti me sy të kuq (The Red-Eyed City),  Ngjyra mbi det  (Colours Upon the Sea) , Dashuria e burrit  (The Love of the Man).

The Love of the Man is a collection of poems that draws its themes and topics on the everyday life. There are social topics expressed as emotional judgements and poetic discourse. The book treats an inner anti-heroism and a sober theism. The Love of the Man has been critically acclaimed.


dashuria-burritTitle: Dashuria e Burrit (The Love of the Man)

Place of publication: Tirana

Year of publication: 2013

Publisher: Poeteka

ISBN: 978-9928-4133- 5-2

Genre: Poems

© all rights reserved to the author :







Cheap was the victory and high was the price

We paid to the memory of a never ending war

We were never defeated. Just tired

And so were our enemies and foes.


This nation was a cradle without a baby, a house

Where songs replaced hunger and despair on the table.

100 years are a short time to forget about freedom

But still not long enough to remember.


Freedom was not born when we first came here…

We learned about it when we lost it in a sunny day.

And our invaders were farmers and sheppards, looking the


As anybody else, wearing poor and speaking strange.


They said they wanted to share their life with us

And they took our life, our immense fields cropped with joy

Our horses who obeyed to their sweet whispers and touch

Our children loved their children’ toys…


We mostly learned about our enemies by the next enemies

They never stopped coming here as a bad season.

100 years may be a short time or a long time,

As far as I am concerned

But to freedom may God call it just a beginning.





One day I will be gone.

This day I shall arrive forever.


You cannot complain anymore

Of my delays, of my late arrivals, my strange


I will have no songs left, no poems

To shelter to.

I am the last verse of my poem.


One day

No longer shall I remain in the dawn waiting

Your bright silhouette to fade out against

The horizon of my memory.

I am my memory

And its emptiness.

I will come this day, without a shadow

Adorning my smile, my dancing walk,

Wearing my loneliness only.

For a man who’s gone

This is the cheapest cloth.


One day I will be gone.

This day I shall arrive


To be gone means to find

The exact place on Earth where waiting for you

Is so heavenly pleasant.




The extract is translated  from the Albanian by Alban Bala