Author: Sabina Veizaj
Place of Publication: Durres
Year of Publication: 2014
Description: The poems of this book are characterised by the bravery of voicing loudly the truth of different phenomena happening in the society we live in every day. These poems were written in free verse and rich metaphoric language. The love for others in its purest form covers the content of all these poems. Vaid Hyzoti, one of the book’s editors describes them as social and shocking poems with a glowing sadness but deep human feelings and good, appropriate wording.
My paranoid schemes dictated me
that all mothers are noble, like mine
however wantons are women, even men
But…, Oh Lord, wantons are mothers too!
Wanton mothers conceived during red moons
while the lightning it’s not heard in the whole life
and the drama sleeps under the pillows of fear.
Where the candle hides the crocodile tears
and the fatigues are baptized with a saddle.
Wanton mothers hide identities,
who knows how they estimate bellies
Wanton mothers abort, they are even afraid
of the loosed moral.
Sow wool in the eyes of the umbrellas
which from the cloudburst protect them the whole life.
Wanton mothers feign loving children,
even the Fathers, of whom?!
Ah, mothers, these mothers who dishonor children
and letting them wounded.
These mothers are calculating machines.
Climbing the stairs with beautiful eyes and smiles.
These mothers are bisque dolls
which children and men burden upon their back, but they’re needed.
Ah, forlorn belly!
Wombfactory that produces tar and guiltless children.
Wanton mothers, bellies like unhinged seasons,
among the equator and north poles!
Ah, mother of mine, deity of mine!
You the difference of filled bellies!
You mother like noble mothers
You mother who give love, your love of
a truthful Mother!
Love and poppies
Onto a white horse
Bohemian of dreams
With the soil on the back
I start off to a warring country
To plant poppies
Perhaps by stepping on graves,
Perhaps shedding tears over green corpses
Perhaps waiting with the strong
Palms of love cartridges which
Perhaps like a metaphor I would like to use towards other innocents
But I am a dreams daughter and the dream is my Daughter
And I demolish boundaries
I tread guns with the silvery horseshoes of the white horse
And I planter poppies in the soil I carry on the back
And stretch out the hand
This time I can make thee a place right after the soil, by the side of my back
Tired of waiting
Forget the war!
Take the seed of the poppies and throw it behind your back
To let us heirs of our bohemian loving path
With the life, the sacrifice, the termless love for the neighbour
We can let the selfishness in the lap of the dead
And of the villains who want to fight to the death
We can fight to make love and plant flowers
Stretch out thy hand to me!
So I can make thee happy,
You who resemble to the soil so closely
And you want to overthrow it
Now that I have it on my back we can do it easily
It would be sufficient to make love and plant flowers
Because I want to make you happy
A tiny wish
Which chants by murmuring
Under the horseshoes of the white horse.
The extract is translated from the Albanian by Sait Saiti