Saturday, December 1, 2018




My muse!
What beauty do you hide inside sunsets?
What dreams resurfaced beyond freedom?
What song is playing through an abysmal terrain?
What rays is it demanding in the darkening evenings?

My muse!
Remained on top of a silent abyss,
I am attacking silence through a dissolved eternity.
everywhere I see an elderly dusk
appears on any corner a revitalised sunrise.

My muse!
Years and grey hair just like giant rocks,
Are whitened in hidden clouds.
Carved soul from a dried pen,
Is shaken, torn apart, away in the unknown.

My muse!
Perhaps you arrived as punishment within drunkenness
Or as a shivering game of dizziness?
I breathe girl’s eyes hidden in you
And tears returned into a topaz.

My muse!
As a blessed breath pressing in forgiveness,
Since we awoke as poets in a sun rise.
Peaceful Sun sets brewing life
Days are going faster with a fast track...


My dreams are there,
Just like thousands of icebergs in an endless ocean.
Mind penetrates all the way flying,
In other skies, trips “endless”.

My dreams are there,
In spring skies, with many stars
Pieces of feelings crumble a soul
And turned magic into a cloth.

My dreams are there,
Just like light whitening, in sun rise.
With longing of autumn in a chest
And ...points of rain – sorrow.

My dreams are there
Over rainbow arches, colors of thoughts;
A white day, hope and happiness,
Trenches are twisted, poetry rebellion.

My dreams are there
Formatted in a great feeling...
A view thrown in a dark sky
Breathing margins – a statue shape.


In ‘Sivenston’ Park is quiet,
Lost benches in a heretic time.
A frozen lake and forgotten wings
Of white swans dissolved in migration.

On ‘Sivenston’ park is cold,
wind is blowing.
A snow that feels with crystallised snow flocks,
Steps are knocking, slow motions
Flip flaps of enlarged shadows.

‘Sivenston’ park, a broken vision,
Worlds are crossed,
Awaiting for water flows,
Shapes of symbols painted on lips
Mirages and dreams of broken memories.

“Sivenston’ Park an infinite vision
a thrill of fates.
Among clouds and nights an icy longing,
Sleeps below the forest naked and alone.
4-       How far away and nearby

How fare and how close,
With knees that remain through the times of sadness,
Spreading through grey waves of confusion
To genuine soul, anger and sadness.

How far and hour close,
We the owners of freedom and angst
In the bridges and lost horizons
In the intersections of turbulent fates.

How far and how close,
In the magic that has appeared at dawn
With thirst after an empty pride
And through the streets without a return.

How far and how close,
Touching the whitest dreams
At tomorrow’s hope and frightens
At the simplest humility, greatness.



AGRON SHELE was born in October 7th, 1972, in the Village of Leskaj, city of Permet, Albania.  Is the author of the following literary works: “The Steps of Clara” (Novel), “Beyond a grey curtain” (Novel), “Wrong Image” (Novel) , “Innocent Passage” (Poetry), Whiste stones ( poetry) RIME SPARSE -Il suono di due voci poetiche del Mediterraneo (Poesie di Agron Shele e Claudia Piccinno), “Ese-I and Ese-II) ” .  Mr. Shele is also the coordinator of International Anthologies: “Open Lane- 1,” “Pegasiada , Open Lane- 2 , ATUNIS magazine ( Nr 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 )” and Atunis Galaxy Antholgy 2018.  He is  winner of some international literary prizes. Is a member of the Albanian Association of Writers, member of the World Writers Association, in Ohio, United States, Poetas del Mundo, WPS, Unione world Poetry and the President of the International Poetical Galaxy “Atunis”. He is published in many newspapers, national and international magazines, as well as published in many global anthologies: Almanac 2008, 2017; World Poetry Yearbook 2009, 2013, 2015,  The Second Genesis -2013, Kibatek 2015-Italy, Keleno- Greece,  etc.  Currently Resides in Belgium and continues to dedicate his time and efforts in publishing literary works with universal values.


  1. great write,dear poet.a great blend of imagination and abstract meanings.god give you more golden ink.

  2. I feel so close the poems. There is a lots of beauty and creativity.
    Always being inspired.