Saturday, November 1, 2025
MARCIA TRAHAN INTERVIEW
NILAVRONILL TALKING WITH
POET OF THE MONTH
MARCIA
TRAHAN
NOVEMBER 2025
NILAVRONILL: Welcome to Our Poetry Archive. Since April
2015 we are publishing and archiving contemporary world poetry each and every
month. Up to the last month we have published 127 monthly issues and 11 Year
Books. I hope you would also like OPA very much, like hundreds of poets around
the world.
MARCIA
TRAHAN: I admire
Our Poetry Archive very much and am beyond honored to be your featured poet. I
was thrilled when you accepted all five of my poems. I hope to reach readers
around the world.
NILAVRONILL: Why
do literature and poetry in particular interest you so much? Please give us
some idea about your own perception of literature or poetry in general.
MARCIA TRAHAN: I have been interested in literature all of
my life, since my sister taught me to read at age three. I read Dr. Seuss and
wanted to write and illustrate my own picture books. I published my first poem
at age nine. I was a shy child, and I understood that writing was a way to
reach people, a way to express myself without having to say a word. Now, I view
literature and poetry as radical acts. Poetry in particular is radical because it
uses potent imagery and unusual language to shake up the reader’s world. Literature’s
voices make me feel less alone.
NILAVRONILL: Do
you believe that your literary self is actually an extension of your soul? We would like to know the factors and the
peoples who have influenced you immensely in the growing phase of your literary
life.
MARCIA TRAHAN: Yes, my literary self
is an extension of my soul, and poetry in particular comes from the very depths
of my being. I have been influenced greatly by Mary Oliver and Louise Gluck, who
wrote about the spiritual aspects of the natural world. I have also been
influenced by Sylvia Plath, who explored all of life; people focus on her death
and her images of dying, but there is much more to her work than that. I write
about the rebirth of the soul, the uncovering of the true self, and the destructive
and redemptive powers of love.
NILAVRONILL: Do you consider particular language, culture and nationality
shape up the poet’s literary self? What is your personal experience being an American?
I would like to understand how much and in what way your language, your culture
as well as your nationality paved your literary self.
MARCIA TRAHAN: Being an American poet means looking deeply, past the
surfaces that our culture is obsessed with. It’s especially important to seek
deeper truths now, when so many are vulnerable due to the political landscape.
From early adolescence, I have asked the hard questions: What are the facts?
What is real? Who are the heroes and who are the villains? American language
can be glib, so I seek words that get to the bottom of life, the essence of
existence. Right now, it’s hard not to be angry all the time about what is
happening in this country. I turn to reading and writing poetry when I need to explore
kindness, grief, and love.
NILAVRONILL: Do you think the primary obligation of a poet should be to communicate
with the temporal as well as with the eternal essence of life and the universe?
If so, how can one fulfil that particular obligation?
MARCIA TRAHAN: Yes, I think poets are obliged to seek the
temporal as well as the eternal. As a poet and as a person, I am obsessed with time’s
passing; I’ve had several life-threatening illnesses, and I’m keenly aware of
the fact that we only have so many years on this earth. I write from an
awareness of death and the hope for an afterlife. I am always thinking about
what the universe might hold for us, in life and beyond. As poets, we fulfil
our obligation by writing about all of these aspects of time.
NILAVRONILL: It is an established fact that every poet
should create his or her own poetic language as an unique literary signature
that would eventually keep him or her alive beyond his or her time. I would
like to know your personal experience in this regard, and how can one achieve
that unique literary language in his or her lifetime?
MARCIA TRAHAN: Yes, the best poetry outlives the poet. I
am thinking of the recent death of Andrea Gibson and their poems and readings
going viral in tributes to their life. Gibson’s language is direct, honest, and
truthful. I hope that my own work might touch lives in some small way. When I
write poetry, I look for honest language that expresses exactly what I am
thinking and feeling, not in therapeutic words, but in soulful words. As I
suppose all poets do, I imagine my work being read after I die.
NILAVRONILL: Is it possible to put into the words
everything that as a poet you wish to express literarily? If not, why?
MARCIA TRAHAN: I don’t think that poets ever express
everything. Poetry is a lifelong endeavour that demands ceaseless exploration and
the search for meaningful moments. I write about life, death, rebirth, love,
and loss, but even as I work with my deepest self, I’ll never say all there is
to say.
NILAVRONILL: Do you think literary criticism has much to
do with the development of a poet and the true understanding of his or her
poetry?
MARCIA TRAHAN: I don’t
give much thought to literary criticism. As a poet, I look past potential
critics and try to reach readers who will appreciate what I have to say. I am
grateful for thoughtful feedback about my work, but it’s not my driving force.
When I do read literary criticism, I want to learn about how the life of the
poet influences the work, but I don’t want to see the life overshadowing the
work. Again, I’m thinking of Sylvia Plath and how many critics focus on her depression
as if she had been in despair every day of her life. I also write about
depression, but there is much more to me and my poetry than that, and I hope
that my audience sees all that I have to say.
NILAVRONILL: Literature encompasses every aspect of life;
it blends the various shades and textures of human aspirations as well as
drawbacks. It also lights up the new horizons and new dimensions of human
capabilities relentlessly. I would like to know your particular viewpoints; how
do you relate all these in your own writings?
MARCIA TRAHAN: As a poet and essayist, I write about
disappointment, anguish, losses of all kinds, disorientation, discovery,
elation, and revealing the self. I look for these themes in all the literature
I read, including poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. I look for voices
that have something unique to say about the human experience. When I write, I
try to use my voice to express things no one else has said.
NILAVRONILL: How would you evaluate your contemporaries
and what are your aspirations for or expectation from the younger generation?
MARCIA TRAHAN: Among my
contemporaries, I particularly admire the poetry of Scott Ferry and Julie
Benesh. They get to the heart of the matter with dazzling language, exploring intimate
truths. I think that young poets should read everything, not just poetry, but
fiction, creative nonfiction, and plays; and they should attend and participate
in readings. It’s exciting to think of what lies ahead for young poets. I believe
they will channel their political rage and social awareness and give us vivid,
honest, powerful work.
NILAVRONILL: Humanity has suffered immensely in the
past, and is still suffering around the world. We all know it well. But are you
hopeful about our future? What role can literature in general play to bring a
better day for every human being?
MARCIA TRAHAN: I am
hopeful about the future; despite all the suffering we’re seeing in the United
States and around the world. I see poets sharing their work on social media,
and it inspires me. I’m reading poems that are furious, brash, courageous, and deeply
in love with the human experience. This work helps all of us to feel less
alone. I have often had my spirits lifted by a poem I read on Facebook.
NILAVRONILL: We are almost at the end of the interview.
I remain obliged to you for your participation. Thank you for sharing your
views and spending much time with us.
MARCIA TRAHAN: Thank you for asking these wonderful
questions and for featuring me on your website.
MARCIA TRAHAN is the author of Mercy: A
Memoir of Medical Trauma and True Crime Obsession (Barrelhouse Books). Her
poetry has appeared in ONE ART, Cathexis Northwest Press, Two Hawks Quarterly,
The Write Launch, Wild Roof Journal, Every Day Poems, Cloudbank, and others.
Her essays have appeared in HuffPost, The Rumpus, the Brevity Blog, Fourth
Genre, and elsewhere. Marcia works as a freelance book editor and holds an MFA
from Bennington College. To learn more, visit www.marciatrahan.com.
MARCIA TRAHAN
Useful
I see a window
glowing with my
future.
I have all but
forgotten about tomorrow,
its wild
promises.
I touch the hot
glass,
see a sparrow
dance wingless on the lawn.
I lift the sash.
The sun
washes me in
gold—
the sun, my
great friend,
my everyday
savior.
No clouds
overhead.
The sparrow
watches me
with its bright
pebble of an eye
as I climb from
the barricade
I built with
trembling hands.
Oh darkness, I
have known you so long,
black day after
black day,
you are almost a
helpmeet.
Survival
terrifies me.
I need to be
useful,
a hammer or a
wheelbarrow,
a whip or a
scalpel.
I want to touch
the sparrow’s silken head
and rise into
the glitter of the sky,
finally at one
with that glory.
But I am not
meant for flight.
I am meant to
stand here,
half blinded,
dreaming my purpose.
Sweet
How hungry I was
when you left me.
I wept with
desire when I happened upon
the open vein of
the maple.
I drank of it,
swallowing hard
the nectar
that answered my
bitterest need.
Soon the tree
emptied, and
I sank to the
forest floor,
all ritual
falling away,
the dirt and the
curling roots
cradling me as I
gasped for
some god to
bring you back:
you in your
sugared skin, you with
sweet raining in
your mouth,
in the dark
waters of your blood.
Insomnia
I leave you
breathing deep and fast.
For me, sleep is
far away
at the blind
edge of the horizon.
I am in love
with the shadows
that rewrite my
every motion.
In the kitchen,
I find my greed
for toast and
milk and solitude,
my heart red
with old desires.
I have not left
the trembling day,
I have not
relinquished my ambitions,
I am determined
to grasp
something I
cannot name.
How can I tell
you that
I want these
hours of folly,
the
half-remembered light
that spills
across my upturned face
as I wait for
salvation?
Getting The Mail In Spring
The sky blazes
over the mailbox;
a wild unnamed
orange flower
towers above my
doorstep.
This small task,
today:
gathering
missives from the world.
All around me,
the ice is gone,
the dark leaves
are birthing,
no one is
mourning.
I leave behind
the tension
between inside
and outside.
I make cautious
progress across the asphalt,
wondering if
passion replaces sadness
automatically or
if passion must be earned.
I am almost
fully alive,
the strange
orange flower
with its wax
petals
and long brown
stamen
almost a part of
my body.
Those who have
not begged the
light to return
for endless
brittle weeks do
not know
what I know. The
flower
does not bloom
for them:
it blooms for
me. The missives
that wait will
not tell me
anything that
matters more than this.
Debt
After surgery,
my mother lay on
the couch
like a
vanquished soldier,
the violence
just begun,
her wounds sewn
shut in pain.
I brought her
tea and toast,
I brought her my
premature grief,
I brought her my
failure
to imagine her
recovery.
I was only half
daughter.
The other half
of me
saw a life
diminished,
a light cut back
at the source of
its flame.
How I wanted to
believe
the gods would
cradle her
in their golden
palms,
but doctors were
her deities now,
small beings
with miniature powers.
I’d long since
given up needing her,
viewing her
death
as if the
curtain were already falling.
Thirty years
earlier,
another surgeon
broke her open
to give me the
world.
It was a debt I
could not repay,
not now, with my
weak offerings,
my bankrupt
love.
Softly she
whimpered
as she sat up,
her flaring
temper gone,
her fires banked
for good.
“Will you open
the window?”
she asked in her
husk of a voice,
and that I did,
at least that, I
could do.
MARCIA TRAHAN
MARCIA TRAHAN is the author of Mercy:
A Memoir of Medical Trauma and True Crime Obsession (Barrelhouse Books). Her
poetry has appeared in such publications as ONE ART, Cathexis Northwest Press,
Two Hawks Quarterly, The Write Launch, Wild Roof Journal, Every Day Poems,
Cloudbank, Clare, Anderbo, and Kansas City Voices. Her essays have appeared in
HuffPost, The Rumpus, the Brevity Blog, Fourth Genre, and elsewhere. Marcia
works as a freelance book editor and holds an MFA from Bennington College. To
learn more, visit www.marciatrahan.com.
ADA RIZZO
Beyond That Wall
A wind of hatred
blows
a chilly mantle
over the Earth
Violence darkens
the sky
suffocates the
heart of every man.
No more bridges,
houses, childlike voices
only walls and
stones and blood
mute spectators
of mothers' torment.
A long sequence
of moments marks the horror.
The future has
surrendered.
Where is the
love that shone like the summer sun?
Where is the
beauty, the art that illuminated everything?
The gaze
perceives the futility of another stupid war
battles with no
winners no losers,
scorched earth
and tears of lead over lives erased forever.
My soul remains
silent but does not surrender...
it is beyond
that wall, beyond every war.
Under that sky,
one day, love will warm men
under that sky,
one day
peace will break
out!
To Become Children
It is not by
bowing down that we can reach them;
we must rise to
touch the light that radiates from our little masters,
wise in a pure
knowledge that only the heart can reveal.
They live in the
here and now;
Their life is a
dance,
a game in which
the soul gets lost,
time becomes a
silent friend.
Never trust
children!
They speak of
great truths,
they tell
fearlessly, with an innocence that disarms,
they reveal
phrases that tear the veil of our adult, confused world.
They look beyond
appearances,
they value the
invisible,
they seek the
beauty of small things.
In their eyes,
there is an entire universe,
an explosion of
possibilities.
They have the
courage of imagination,
they desire the
impossible,
they dream the
unimaginable,
while we, busy
adults,
forget the
needs
that we have set
aside over time.
Children have no
boundaries; they do not know malice; they love.
Their fervor
illuminates the darkness.
They are
galaxies of little stars
contained in
miniature bodies.
Their emotions,
their thoughts
often escape our
radars as adults, lost in the mazes of reason.
Children dance
upon the wonders of the world;
they are a spark
of eternity that lights us up,
a vibrant sea
where wonder reigns.
Children are a
surprise, a gift,
a great mystery
that remains hidden…
until we return
to essence,
to rediscover
the magic of what we once were,
and still can
be…
It takes a
lifetime to become children.
ADA RIZZO
ADA RIZZO, born in Sicily in 1960, she published several novels and poems, tackling profound themes such as gender violence, eating disorders, and heart transplantation. Among her books are "Volevo il tacco dodici?", "Iris Ali di Vetro", "Novanta battiti al minuto", and "Ventiquattro Carati," works that have received numerous international awards. In addition to her literary activities, Ada Rizzo participates in cultural projects and international anthologies for peace and human rights advocacy. Her poetry has received wide recognition at an international level, and her texts have been translated into various languages. Due to the subjects covered in her books and poems the author has received several recognitions in Italy, America, Europe, Asia, including the "Solidarity Award for Art and Civic Engagement 2024".
Translation by
the author
AGRON SHELE
Sea
O sea,
you who breathe
out all the pain of the earth
and raise the
waves like a storm
like the mane of
a mad horse,
or gray hair
like a commotion.
Clashed by
distant echoes
and turned into
foam
washed in the
eyes of a nymph
a pantheon of
greatness!
O sea,
the currents are
your traces
driven in the
pain of centuries
always wandering
unknown islands
in the long wait
of circuses.
The divine
beauty of the harp that sweetly invites
to the last loop
of pain
of the agony
that torments the body.
O sea,
you who resemble
the wrath of God
and seek peace
through self-sacrifice
somewhere you
snatch the tears of a woman
and fill the
fearful depth.
I don't know
what your sorrow hides
and what white
sails sink
dead maps
in your darkness
great losses of
love.
I see your tired
length
and the cries of
wandering heroes
sailors of fate
struggling,
to meet the
first shore.
That shore that
connects two worlds
and a single
rainbow transcends
the colors of
infinite colors
dissolved in
endless ribbons.
Your murmuring
voice
in the language
of seagulls
returned
a humble cry of
the air
in a forgotten
corner of glances.
The abandoned
path of time
and you are
buried beneath
the open gates
of Poseidon
the kingdom of
the latest god.
O sea, body and
soul of a siren,
that pours a
thousand cups of sorrow
and raises
monstrous waves of temptation.
Extend the
boundaries of the white waves
the shore that
awaits your step.
The only moment
of recognition;
a wave in waves
turned
to a river
extinguished in longing.
O sea,
how far does
your boundary go
the horizon that
hides the great unspeakable
the magic that
blinds the eyes from afar
the mysticism
that immerses in other thoughts,
the mornings
that are born in thousands of blinding
and die in the
evening in the last sunsets.
I don't know why
your ghost trembles
and my heart
melts at the last limit
there these
waves echo the cry
of the only bird
of flight,
an albatross
that spreads its wings
to your anger,
the echo of the war
between the sky
and the gods
emptied in flame
and lightning.
Poured among the
tears of Erato
for the cup that
fell in the breast
the only sign of
recognition
lost in the
darkest frost,
searching for
the soul in blindness
among the hair
that is stained
with a wind of
pain that knows no bounds
rising the
typhoon of the rocks.
A *Calliope
looks down from above
and her eyes
turn blue
where the
ribbons shine
in the clear sun
reflection
of a *Euterpe
who dies and is resurrected
Orpheus' lyre
from afar
passage of the
mad Melpomene
arrived so
loudly at "I".
A *Thetis has
thrown away the crown
for her son who
remained her property
in a Troy that
burns with fire
and a Helen who
returns after,
for an Odysseus
who runs for decades
and a Penelope
who waits and waits,
crossing the bow
of the ring
she restores the
lost love.
O sea,
you who vent all
the pain of the earth
and raise the
storm waves,
nine muses and
nine ships you drown
to hide the
feverish wrath
and today
hundreds of innocent lives
wander dead
hopes
in your kingdom
of cruelty
and pride raised
to the sky.
It is not
forgiveness that you pity,
nor an oracle
that rules you,
you are the tip
of the iceberg of the coldest frost
wave upon wave
of the wrinkled globe
and blue is the
color of the human soul.
©Translated Into
English By Merita Paparisto
AGRON SHELE
AGRON SHELE was born in Albania. Is the author of the following literary
works: Poetry books, Novels and Short Stories. He has published 19 books, 13
anthologies and a serial of mgazines and newspapers in Albanian and many languages!
He is President of the International Poetical Galaxy “Atunis” and coordinator
of International Atunis Galaxy Antholgy. He is the winner of international
literary prizes. He is published in many newspapers, national and international
magazines. Currently resides in Belgium.
ALEXANDER ANCHÍA
Freedom
When my soul in
its feather trip
expense all its
nomad oil,
the wide (*oleo)
in my downfalls
will catch the
colors from the immensely.
Then the horizon
Will tighten my
feelings
As a brother
that
Dresses my smile
of rainbow
After the tired
travel
My promised land
Is more
expensive than utopia
And cheaper than
a dream.
At the end of
precipice
we go on
in a star’s fish
house,
where we are
oneself,
everyone and none.
Kind Of Geometry
Your silhouette
took a walk with the compass,
when the singing
was overthrown from your curves.
And from your
world left the ships
to run over the
roundness of wish.
Your glance is
the intersection of angles
where converge
the meaning of
stars
and the place
where the light made its nest.
This verge of
vectors
find its
pinnacle
in the baroque
perpetuity
of your
factions.
The book of your
Breast
It is opened by
equilateral triangles,
Drawn with the
heaven of my saliva,
And like trap
cist from your mouth,
I will go down
through the lightning trail
That the sugar
opens into the air.
This kind of
geometry
doesn’t return
It is blind in
the desert
And mute in the
sea-compass
Wherever you
are…
Opaque the oval
that exceeds the
squared instinct
with the
exponential crest
of this
stratagem.
When you explode
the photo
Everybody will
be shaken by our architecture
ALEXANDER ANCHÍA
ALEXANDER ANCHÍA was born in the
capital city, downtown San José, and has always been close to the southern
neighborhoods of that city. He began publishing in the early 2000s, in literary
magazines such as the Repertorio Americano Nueva Epoca and the Magazine of
Modern Languages at University of Costa Rica. Since then, his career has been
growing and he has been part of several anthologies in various parts of Latin
America, for example: Río Negro, Apostrofes Editions, Literature Diversity and
Lord Byron Editors. He mainly writes short stories, micro-stories and poetry.
He has been a member of publishing teams such as Dunamis, Azay Art. He has
received mentions for his literary work from the Museo de Altino, Word Museum
and the Bulls Shows Association from San Fermín-Spain. His literary texts have
been translated into Romanian, English, Mandarin and other languages. He has
also written essays and literary reviews. He was the National Secretary of
Poets of the World, received the mention of Ambassador of the Word from the
Egidio Serrano Foundation and Ambassador for the Universal Peace Circle. As a
teacher, he has been a university lecturer in Tourism and a teacher of Spanish
as a second language in various fields. Nowadays he is a teacher of Poetry for
new Poets
ALICJA MARIA KUBERSKA
Hunger In Gaza
I eat grass.
It grows on land
scorched by shells.
I swallow sand.
I am like all
those
who died in line
for flour.
Flour and sand,
grass and wheat
—
so alike, yet so
different.
I cry from
hunger, despair, helplessness.
No one hears me,
no one sees.
I live in a city
of the dead.
Millions of
glass eyes watch me —
indifferent and
cruel.
A screen of
glass separates two worlds:
the safe one,
anchored in comfort,
and the open-air
concentration camp.
Stone hearts,
blind eyes,
silent mouths —
the fed will
never understand the starving.
With my last
breath,
I will scream
the truth —
fearless, it
will shatter the glass world.
History
It judges all
with justice,
opens the eye of
wisdom in the triangle,
studies the life
of man with care,
and weighs the
weight of word and deed.
It keeps the
names of the chosen
in the memory of
nations,
stands unshaken
as a guard
of moral
reckoning.
It sees genius
in works once scorned,
lifts the
humiliated, casts the mediocre into oblivion.
It honours the
ridiculed painting of sunflowers,
listens, moved,
to forgotten melodies,
and marvels at
the beauty of words
written by
mocked poets — beggars in their time.
It barely
mentions the names of mighty rulers
in long tales
about a humble carpenter from Nazareth.
It celebrates
the young Indian prince
who gave up
glory and gold for enlightenment.
Defender of
truth — incorruptible, impartial,
it names things plainly;
despising lies and hypocrisy.
Like a stone
monolith, it rises from the ocean of time,
while the
eternal wind shifts the chaff from the grain.
Gaza
In Bethlehem
the silence
becomes louder and louder—
it echoes
between the sky and the earth.
The street lamps
have closed their eyes,
the ruined
houses are silent.
The wind blows
through the deserted streets.
A crying woman
can be heard in the distance.
She was about to
leave —
she was left
alone among the rubble
and picks
through it with bloody fingers.
Hope makes her
believe,
that she will
hear the word "mom"
In the city,
purple dust
stretches to the horizon.
The mourning sun
lost its warmth and glow.
The mother found
her massacred child
and in that moment her world died.
ALICJA MARIA KUBERSKA – awarded Polish poetess,
novelist, journalist, editor. In 2011 she published her first volume of poems
entitled: “The Glass Reality”. Her
second volume “Analysis of Feelings”, was published in 2012. The third collection
“Moments” was published in English in 2014, both in Poland and in the USA. In
2014, she also published the novel – “Virtual roses” and volume of poems “On
the border of dream”. Next year her volume entitled “Girl in the Mirror” was
published in the UK and “Love me”, “(Not) my poem” in the USA. In 2015 she also
edited anthology entitled “The Other Side of the Screen”.
In
2016 she edited two volumes: “Taste of
Love” (USA), “Thief of Dreams” (Poland) and international anthology
entitled “ Love is like Air” (USA).Next year she published volume in Polish
entitled “ View From the Window”, collection of love poems in Arabic and
English entitled “ Love like arabesque ( together with Egyptian poet Mandour
Saleh Hikiel). In 2018 she published international anthology “Love Postcards”
and her volume in Russian entitled “Selected poems”. She is a chief editor of
series of anthologies entitled “Metaphor of Contemporary” (Poland). Her poems
have been published in numerous anthologies and magazines in Poland, Czech
Republic, Slovakia, the UK, Belgium, Bulgaria, Hungary, Albania, Spain, Turkey,
Argentina, Chile, Peru, Israel, the USA, Canada, India, Malaysia, Saudi Arabia,
Italy, Uzbekistan, South Korea, China, Taiwan, South Africa, Zambia, Nigeria
and Australia. Her volumes were translated into Albanian language by famous
poet and academic Mr Jeton Kelmendi, into Telugu language by famous Hindu poet
Mr Lanka Siva Rama Prasad, into Turkish by famous Turkish poet Metin Cengiz,
into Italian by famous Italian poetess Maria Miraglia and into Arabic by famous
Syrian poetess Shurouk Hammouud. She won: distinction (2014) and medal (2015)
on Nosside poetry competition in Italy, statuette in Lithuania (2015), medal of
European Academy Science, Arts and Letters in France (2018)), award of Cultural
Festival International “Tra le parole e l’ infinito” Italy (2018) She was also
twice nominated to the Pushcart Prize in the USA. Alicja Kuberska is a member
of the Polish Writers Associations in Warsaw (Poland), E- literaci (Poland)and
IWA Bogdani, (Albania). She is also a member of directors’ board of Soflay
Literature Foundation (Pakistan), Our Poetry Archive (India). She is Polish
Ambassador of Culture of The Inner Child Press (the USA). She belongs to
Editorial Advisory Board of Sahitya Anand (India) and IPA Editorial (India).
ANGELA KOSTA
The Epic Of The Phoenix
Sun-dust
glimmers 'neath craters unsealed,
Untold triumphs
time has concealed,
Carved in
tempests, on stone and flame,
By a tyrant hand
with no name.
The
blood-drenched Phoenix, whirls the sphere,
Thirsting in
hell’s own frontier,
Burns to ash
'neath ruins deep
Then rises
again, its vow to keep:
To rule the
world anew, unbowed,
Above the
silence of the crowd.
And we are mute…
I am mute…
Stripped of
power, stripped of truth.
I cannot fight
what mercy feigns,
Nor time’s cruel
chain that still remains.
Beheaded, blind,
we linger still,
Shadows of
glory, bent by will.
We leave behind
the sneer of loss,
Bear time’s
burden, feel its cross,
And chew the
darkness of the soul
No tears to
cleanse, no centuries whole…
Hope
Hope is the
subtle light that
darkness
challenges.
It's in the
heart,
even when the
world is silent.
It's the whisper
in tears, promises
sprouting rose
petals in silence
It's the breeze
facing gentle
caresses.
Hope is the
smile of the eyes
that fears of
challenge.
It's the
Supernova guiding us
toward the
universe
It's the
outstretched hand
when the path is
unsafe
It's salvation
in the stormy ocean
of life.
ANGELA KOSTA
ANGELA KOSTA: ALBANIA & ITALY. Angela Kosta was born
in Elbasan, Albania, and lives in Italy. She is a writer, poet, translator,
journalist, and cultural promoter. A member of numerous international academies
and associations, she has represented Albanian literature at various festivals
and competitions. Her work has been translated into 45 languages and published
in many countries. In 2024 alone, her works appeared in over 170 international
magazines and newspapers. She has received significant awards such as
"Best Translator" from OBELISK magazine for translating poems by
Giosuè Carducci and the title of "Important Figure" from the Moroccan
newspaper Akhbar7 (2023). She was also listed among the 100 most prominent
figures in Arabic literature by Al-Rowad News in 2024. Angela is an active
member of academies in Italy, the USA, China, Greece, Poland, and other
countries. Her work promotes dialogue between cultures through the written
word, building literary bridges worldwide.
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