Monday, February 1, 2021





The Mummified Walls

And The Breasts Of Love




The day’s boundaries have disappeared

So have the night’s boundaries

The eclipse’s mummy lying long and wide

Nowadays mummified walls reigning all over world horizon

East is a wall. Of West

West is a wall. Of East

South is a wall. Of North

And of South, North is a wall

Nowadays whether East, West, South and North are the living man’s cube

Or the living men himself is their cube, no one can tell

Nowadays whether North, South, East and West are the dead man’s rectangle

Or the dead man himself is their rectangle, no one can tell

East, West, South and North are the four staying together

But nowadays the loss of one of them has created the triangle of neither the living nor the dead

Nowadays the triangle of neither the living nor the dead

Mostly deals with politics

The most favourite one

Of even local and central governance

The most favourite one

Of even ‘Global Governance’





Walls spreading

Near and far

Walls surrounding every Balkan country

Where people have melted into liquids

Taking the shape of any political vessel

Walls surrounding America

With tornadoes becoming balls of barbed wire

Walls surrounding political Russia or North Korea

Where they clone Stymphalic Birds

Walls surrounding European Union

With amoeba as its heraldry symbol

Walls surrounding the Middle East

With the desert’s whiteness

Covering in the triangles of black scorpions

Walls surrounding both ‘known and unknown’ China

With the seas becoming mixed mortar to build territories

Walls surrounding Africa

Filled with UNO refugees – moving anonymous caves

With their entrances and exits unknown to cave experts but known to world banks

Walls surrounding writing hands

Stop here for a while. Let the time stop.

A book cover cannot be a wall. A book cover – a house door or a yard gate

Walls, walls, walls





Outside, walls

Rising from inside

Inside, walls

Rising from outside

Nowadays intimate and digital interferences, walls

Nowadays works of hypocritical writers, walls

They write about the poor

Closing their eyes with beggars’ hands

Leaving ants homeless like gipsies

Stuffing their holes with their mouths

Blowing their earthly holes to produce

Inexistent hanging balloons





Walls, walls, walls

Not of stones

For stones have already fled their place

Stones are clouds


Sending down rheumatic rains

With illuminators springing up like mushrooms after the rain

Nowadays the eyes of racists, of extremists, of..., are their oil lamps

Walls separating lovers

Evidence: Clambering

Falling, neck breaking





Nowadays the light’s borders are made of fresh kindling

Nowadays the darkness’s borders are made of dry tinder

Are they expecting the corpse of corpses to burn?

Nowadays the eclipse’s mummy is the wall of ecstasy

The moon’s breasts pressing against the sun’s chest

Thus creating a giant glass container full of fishlike organs

Under the corpse, the eclipse’s wall

A compassionate mother carries a kettle in her hand

Trying to fetch water

For sprinkling the door

With the water fetched from the dead to bless prosperity

Following the instructions of her shadow’s fortune-teller

Her husband appears in front of her

With hands stretched as if he were a sleepwalker

Or Oedipus of the incest

That revenged on the sinners

The people of the Right Path

And his own eyes, too





Walls above

Walls below

And, as a world citizen, I catch at the air tightly

Not to fall from the political wall

Of the actual ‘State-Devoid-Of-People’ reforms

Is this time geography or time without geography?

Both parallels and meridians are hospital beds

I am the poet of peace, staying far from the noisy crowd

That joins the noisy crowd marching through thousands of pages of books, lectures

On national and international writers

Interned from love, I live

In the archipelago of my birthplace

Here the thirstiest of the thirstiest

Quenches his dying thirst on his tears

Because of it, even the etymological logic

Of my birthplace name: KRUJA, meaning

‘The Fountain’

Distils into running water

Who would prefer a drop of milk to a fertile woman’s breasts?


The earthly globe is a breast, a breast of love

The world certainly thought of you to be a woman with an unusual eyebrow

Which most people purposely mistake

For the man’s rib bone





Nowadays, amidst walls, a baby is being born

Falling from the Seven Heavens

Descending from the universe

Emerging from every element of the universe

Each element with its particle contained in ‘the tiny basket,’ ‘the baby’s body’

The baby’s ascending invisibility weighs

How much?

It can weigh as much as a small pebble

It can also weigh as much as a mountain or an asteroid

How much?

It can weigh as much as a grain of dirt

It can also weigh as much as a continent or a moon’s satellite

How much?

It can weigh as much as a dew drop

It can also weigh as much as a sea or a glacier carpeting the undiscovered planet

How much?

It can weigh as much as all the roads you have to walk

Catching your ear from behind

Then, finally, how much does it weigh?

Read the Holy Books

Moses acquired Torah from Heaven

David acquired Psalms from Heaven

Jesus acquired Gospel from Heaven

Muhammad acquired Quran from Heaven

Therefore, you, baby girl or baby boy, I mean, in terms of genitals

Mark the mummified wall with your head

Push the mummified wall with your feet

Crumble the whole mummified wall with your voice

O baby, you and only you can pull down the mummified wall

With the divine push

O birth of the living

O cosmic arrival of life

After that you will see diapers

Hanging on all the lines of the horizon




Dr. HAMDI MEÇA of ALBANIA. Poet, author, philosopher, scholar, from Albania. Awarded and honored with international awards, important medals, honorary titles, diplomas, etc. Also was elected on various international cultural boards. About 40 books by this multifaceted author have been published in Albania. Poetry is almost the whole nature of his creativity. His poems have been published in many languages. The books of the author Hamdi Meça the publishing house "Aquillrelle", Croatia, are published in two languages, English and Albanian: "A Poet Mountain Range" - (Vargmal Poetik), "303 Mad Battles" - (303 Beteja të Çmendura), "Lines" - (Viza). By this author "Aabs India" publishing house, India, published books of poetry in English "A Poeti Mountain Range", "Prometheus` Liver”. According to observers, his art is a unique poetic art of a high stylistic, aesthetic and philosophical style. The author belongs to the Albanian family MEÇA, which the President of the Republic of Albania, in 2017, awarded one of the highest state titles “Honor of the Nation”. He was born on September 6, 1952, in the famous Albanian city, Kruja. After education in his hometown (1959-1972), graduated in 1975 Higher Studies in Linguistics at the University "Luigj Gurakuqi"of Shkodra, Albania. Afterwards, specifically qualified and certified in psychology, linguistics, public administration, tourism. For many years, he worked as a professor of literature, also and in the public administration of his birthplace Kruja. From 2008 onwards he is dedicated solely to the Art of Writing. Currently living, in the Albanian capital, Tirana.

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