ENGJËLL I. BERISHA

ENGJËLL I. BERISHA

REITERATION OF NOTHINGNESS

You finished the whole color of the world

Pencil drops black

Black and even black

Yellow flowers red flowers

White flowers

And blue sky

The words are screaming

From mysanthrops’ vase

To fall out from a bottle of writing

Poison with stomach and lungs

I am, growing

Under an oaks shade

And cut my hand so I would loose

And to respond

A word of response

Perhaps you may be tired

Possibly you cannot see

How the pretty

Are setting bed

Over my body

A river with a sky of blue

Where the clock’s arrow would not stop

View it in depth

As a value of inheritance

Place rotten wood

And returns the face

To the north with freezing winter

Oh Nothingness, nothingness

Fumes with stress without stop

And spits

Near the window without a house

THE COLOR OF WRITING

Just like the eyes of a child with sea color

The color of writing

A deep pond

How cold is the depth

There with a stone the tiger’s teeth

Diamond and topaz

And the color darkened, darkened

And comes a white blood

Of clinical death

Just like the kid’s eyes with longing color

The color of writing exhausts whiteness

With the beautiful view of birth

Cuts with a black line

The small piece of happiness

Send me a letter  -  Violet

A color of the sky

Lastly drawing the words

The river where they drink

The herded animals

And wild people

O God! Where did you find,

That plumes which in place of sweet color

Drops poison and tears

THE LETTER THAT IS LOST

THROUGHOUT TIME

I am leaving all my wealth

In a road side

I am building a temple of goodness

I am leaving my name as inheritance

In the face of my child

Will arrive your delayed letter

And will open as a testament

The wet hands of the builders

Then I will sing

A symphony and music

The chamber of happiness

Over the grass of my body in that world

Completely the same

Is the writing unraveling the truth or lies

Come and testify

THE BODY UNDUSTED

Are you that anonymous

The author of the lost letter

That opened at the future time

And cleaned it just as the body

With the sick wound

Of your hatred

The first line of it

Homo Hominus Lupus est

And the wolf with a tale at the stairs

In a legend leaves me behind

In front of the eyes as long as alive

Aren’t you the one leaving a testament

To your generation born not guilty

This writing, black, black, black

As a testimony of your blindness

And hatred

Time heals

But words are not dead in a book

The black color of your writing

Is defended through the shelf’s

Aren’t you who melted the oil

And extinguished the fire

Darkened the time that became forgetful

And testimony of your blindness

Where they will find you

To respond

You are not today, not tomorrow

Is unraveled only your shame

BLACK NIRVANA

SUMMER

Drunkening the fish at the hook

Olives and cheese

Walnuts and holy blood

In another the unknown dimension

World

I walk on my feet in this world

See the old furnishings how they shine

The view not enjoyed with the language of a tree

Repraises the euphoria of childhood

Where am I

To take me sleeping in the fields

And to throw me in the shallow creek

A random who had a house

In the world’s streets

Gave a wife to tear apart Geisha Edgar Poe

Left the soul to its hand

For five silver coins

Run and run throughout the planet

Always near the door

Without trespassing once the gate of Nirvana

A good work

Did not see the death by itself

Who ruined throughout the world

With his yellow body

EUPHORIA

From the bed of longing for nine years

An instant arose with its feet

And came around the house just as the mill

The wolf screamed above in the mountains

Was a great day and a jorgovan like wind

Before the night of chaos

How a few turned that world into nirvana

As a dark dot of universe

Up to the bed of nine years of sorrow

Brought a spoon of breadth

After that is the door of death

While entering in that space without weight

The body would bother you

The six organs are looking

Touching in the fifth dimension

Those who return

Forget all the languages.

TRANQUILIZER

The strong scent of medical treatment

Just as the smell of soil when emerging from grave

You are not a dream neither death

Nor heavy and quantity

I can call you freely a men with a name

Responds and falls from the roof

Just as the balancer in the circus

The sweetness of words took my mind

What is drinking my soul that doesn’t know to become awake

From the static world of wind with freshness

Deceptions leave me on Earth

The words that describe the flower

Breadth is ending by storm actions

What did I do

ENGJËLL I. BERISHA

ENGJËLL I. BERISHA: He was born on June 17th, 1962, District of Gjakova, Kosovo. During his studies on Albanian Language and Literature in Prishtina, has frequently published on periodicals since 1985 and continued for many years. Published his first book in 1990 while continuing later with four poetry volumes. In 1993 established the Literary magazine “Fiction Magazine” while serving as its managing editor. Has been a contributor on almost every newspaper published in Kosova, while in 1995-1999, worked as an investigative journalist in the daily “Bota Sot” and in the weekly “Eurozeri”. In 1997 in the traditional conferences of Gjeçovi, earned the annual prize for best poetry. In 2002, in the conference of poetry, won the prize of “poetry gathering” with his book entitled: “Çati eshtrash”(House Ceiling of Dreams). In December 2006, won a literary prize, “Serembe on Poetry” with his book, “Drunken memory” from the Art Club of Laç. His verses are included in the anthology “To whom are you fatherland”, authored by Ali Podrimja. Is the founder and managing editor of the journal of those Missing in Action and have Dissapeared “April 27”. Since 2005 is the chairman of the Literary Club “Gjon Nikolle Kazazi”, in Gjakova. For many years has been a staff member and for fifteen years serves as the director of the regional “Ibrahim Rugova” Library in Gjakova.