Irsa Ruçi writes

Continuity

I knew my grandparents by how they cultivated their land

In their form of fingers interrelating

While the line of life

Had to start in the east

They woke up with the crown of sun every morning.

As a borderline between what belonged to them

And the indifference for what did not

Were the graceful oak trees

Equal with the age’s roughness

That just to bother

Threw its shade in the neighbour’s garden

Who my grandpa always mentioned

With a little envy

Because his trees gave more fruits.

The adour of sail while it was cultivated

I remember it even today… reminds me of childhood

Generations are raised by memories!

Ah, I haven’t forgotten the offenses of my grandparents

Their silent curses for those who stole a little grape across

The street (never in their pride touched).

Now that I tread that earth with a bunch of dreams in my hands

I feel that in it there’s again essence

That time won’t fade away!

Everything has died because of the winter cold

But the amaryllis of the earth inherited a spring that will ever cherish…

 

Amaryllis -- John William Godward Amaryllis Glow -- ElaineHahn

Irsa Ruçi writes

Why people write poetry

People write poetry out of fear
That one day I’ll be only a memory in time
And in middle of oblivion
Only hatred will be remembered
Vomiting in selfishness.

While poets are rivers they flow peacefully

In the idealism which weighs in their consciousness
Without there being enough evil
To fit in the society.

But you can’t be a poet
If you aren’t foolish enough
To believe that your own line
Will change the mood
Go on believing in stubbornness
In naivety
That your name be one day
Something more than some letters on a page.

That’s why people write poetry,
To clean their soul…

 Saying the Names -- Faye Hall

Irsa Ruçi writes

Longingpain!

I can swear I’ve never seen

The tiring mornings

How they ensoul in foolish barefootness

I swear for every line and letter

That I wrote deliriously

To escape this reality

Without an identity.

While the smell of coffee

Collapses the walls of this town

In complete nakedness

While my grandma grinds in her mill

The past; there where regrets lay

With losses

And I go on drinking the venom of time

In slow growth.

I swear I have been busy

Studying constellations

While everyday

We lost our dreams – like kids their toys,

With ribs taken from our body

They build the cage of our freedom…

… But I see every day the patched scars

That this place hides

…and this hurts me!

 

 From Adams Rib -- Stephanie Moore