VIOLETA KADRIU

 

  

 

Autumnal Melancholy And A Cry Of The Soul

 

The wind rattles against the window railings, 

shakes the leaves from the park trees’ branches 

as if they were yellowish scraps of withered soul. 

 

The sidewalks are filled entirely with chestnuts, 

with scent and taste, a leaf flutters in the river, 

it looks like a small child when starting to swim for the first time... 

 

The swallows hurry away from the sunbeams, 

leaving us their empty nests as a trust in the corners of houses; 

longing passes through nature 

mixed with notes of melancholy, and I pray... 

 

Let the crystal of the dried tear on my cheek today 

gnaw at my fleshy purple, 

let the world know how much you have caused me tears and pain 

You, ogre lamb-mask of the silk-white buds 

of cherries, apples, pears…! 

 

Let the plucked flowers of my garden rest 

under the wet, reddened dew, 

let it be known that here was a flowerbed, 

there was once blossoming and the scent of mountain and field flowers, 

let the broken rays of our withered star see dawn...! 

 

Do not build me a hearth and a swallows’ nest over ruins, 

let them stay like that under the gray sky of betrayal and suffering; 

I want to see them whenever I turn around 

as you once made them rubble, to ask myself: 

“How did I hold on, really?!” 

 

Oh, do not try to deceive me with the scent of leaves 

and chestnuts scattered around, 

from my chest I took and first reddened my budding heart, 

for I no longer believe any trunk or earth that grows and cradles them, 

for it was also autumn when we first and last saw each other 

I do not want the likeness to it, I do not want the golden leaves, no, 

I want again that late pre-autumn to return to me 

to erase that season and all the seasons after it, 

to restore its history fully, 

for no winter brought me snow again 

no spring brought me flowers and bloom again 

no summer perfumed me with rose and wine 

by the lakeside again 

all autumns found me with a dried soul... 

the soul does not revive once it has been killed... 

 

Deceitful is the world, now I know it very clearly 

you spin me around like the glass when we drank it 

full of raki! 

 

Two Pairs Of Lips

 

Two pairs of close lips, 

did love sell them, I don’t know anymore 

are they whole or crooked, 

in every season the cherry blooms in them?! 

 

Two pairs of dewy lips 

defy every star behind the cloud, 

they never want to remain half, 

unceasingly they pull from me and you. 

 

Two pairs of very hot lips 

cool even the crystal water of the lake, 

they sip “pollen” with light “feet,” 

I don’t know if they came from Eden. 

 

Two pairs of ivory lips 

angelize the greenery of this spring, 

at the same time harsh and fragile, 

they don’t care for rain or breeze. 

 

Two pairs of reddish flesh and blood 

play and laugh with you and me, 

every day they wait for the veil to be lifted, 

for one to say to the other, “Do you love me as much as I love you?” 

 

Wherever I turn my head, two pairs of fleshy lips appear to me, 

they intoxicate the land of Kosovo with scent, 

carnation bud, lilac, snowdrop. 

Violeta Kadriu

 

The Friend Of The Generation

 

Today I went into town with a friend of mine, 

suddenly I saw a friend, with a beauty that kills, 

is this the old friend of the generation, 

how many times passing she gave light to the city and to the night?! 

 

I remember the friend at the 86 graduation, 

in a simple dress she shone like an ancient statue, 

before her radiance the rose petals closed, 

before her voice not even the nightingale chirped. 

 

The one I remember seemed the same to me today, 

the seasons have not scratched her, she has not felt the changing year, 

or I cannot see inside her soul, 

maybe all this outward shine dissolves into tears?! 

 

Maybe the sun has rested on her face, 

or all the fairies have gifted their magic to her body, 

or in her veins only the lily perfumes, 

like a new bride before the veil is lifted! 

 

Why does she seem alone in the middle of the city today, 

if life has weighed her down why has her light not dimmed, 

unintentionally this girl wounded the boyish heart, 

she loved only the book, poetry and song as dowry?! 

 

The same black hair, the envy of every neighborhood, 

a few grays show, pain has danced in them, 

still in her eyes a gleam that does not fade, 

no, my friend, the years have not hated you! 

 

Or so it seemed to me, it’s been a while since we met, 

from school nostalgia I felt like crying, 

my good friend of the same generation, 

who still “kills” with grace, with your poetry as a sword! 

 

I would like today for a moment to turn time back, 

to take a few steps on “your journey” too, 

but, with my choice back then I took another direction, 

your poetry and song “slipped from my hand”! 

 

VIOLETA KADRIU