Friday, December 1, 2023





Oh you scary solitude, you wicked witch,

Your hands of terror, how time you buckled my throat,

How many time you approached with traps and sticks,

And with your claws open, you threw over to me.


How many time you given me the brains of a fool,

You made me forget everything sweet in this world,

To walk thoughtfully and close my eyes as if from flames,

My veins throbbed, my blood pressure raised.


The black day seemed to me like a dark night,

And I walked in years like a lifeless, like a  lonely one,

How many times have you made me see the end of the world,

And the sun above, although hot, didn't warm me.


But you didn't take me with you, you couldn't beat me.

Even though confusion crashed into my arms,

I burned you claws, although with hot tears,

I threw away insidious kisses, and your words "I love you".


How many times have we groused and both fought,

In the dark, insidious recesses with devils of the years,

And I'm still not given to your cruelty,

I fought with the rope around my throat like the myths.


Through crossroads like two enemies we are separated,

you threw me away in the taverns where I asked for help,

How many times I hung my soul in the saddle of history,

And the heart has asked to be silent for the last cry?


You wanted to kill me, to take me that little bit of breath,

With the vapours of alcohol and the blessed glass,

But you couldn't pull me to drown me in your current,

And why, in front of you, I looked often like Don Quixote.


Me was forget by all, the close company was almost lost,

They looked at me with fear, as if I had cholera,

Some "good friend" secretly looked at me as if

Gone, lost and the beautiful words, the wind took them away.


Tired, often exhausted and hopeless,

Around me, I saw often the black bottom of a well,

The world from its foundations, in its ruins, is shaken,

And the terrible sleep of death seeks to tear me away.


A woman's hand grabbed my hair and shook me,

She woke me up to see the sky again and took me with herself,

Her gaze often defeated my fearful temptation,

She opened my eyes once again to the hope of this life.


Made me see the green grass growing up,

The surrounding trees are opening new flowers every day,

She reminded me that this life is still beautiful,

Filled with aromas, flavours and new colours.


Among The Crowd


From solitude and silence, he was tired enough

Closed the door and went out into the crowd,

Once upon a time his house was lighted up,

Like spring - full of life and noise.


They all talked that day in the crowd,

That gloomy, cloudy morning,

Who with the others and who with themselves,

Many times, like pantomime, without voice.


The sun brightened on someone,

In the eyes, words and in their sight,

Someone had still the night left,

In his eyes from restless sleep.


As part of the crowd he pushes with wings,

To mix with it, he tries to say something

But cried out with pain's voice: "Ah!"

When crowd's current carried him beyond.


Even though he was is pain, he didn’t know,

why he felt good in the crowd,

maybe that life in loneliness,

Put on him some shadows of fear.


The Seniors’ House





Tonight, they will remove you,

From the house you love so much,

Where dreams draw you,

The dreams you left endless.




The illness like plague,

It eats, grinds you,

Fate asks you to go away

To leave you your home.




The wind is howling outside,

Cracks her head on Gravel,

The door cries and tears,

How worried it was!




Winter clouds are heavy,

Above your look they stay,

Feeling of despair,

It consumes your soul.




Children you loved so much,

Raised them with difficulty,

But not a voice came now to you,

To take away some of your sorrows.




They have a lot of worries,

Maybe, far away there, in exile,

But still your eyes remained,

Night and day on the eve.




Now the pain is silent,

Silent as a curse,

The eye wanders endlessly,

It can't find an explanation.




The disease plays and mocks,

With your luck, your life,

Like a witch she wanders,

At the corners, everywhere around.




So the nursing home,

It looks like a corpse,

And perhaps from suffering,

It weighs more in your soul.




Where did your dreams go,

Into which abyss of oblivion,

Where lost and extinguished,

the sun of your hope?




That hope that shone,

The years of old age,

The hope which spoke to you,

sweetly, on days of boredom?




That the boys will return,

With nephews, nieces together,

The stars above would get drunk,

With your party outside.




So today also the sky,

Like a stone on your back,

You say the sun is lost,

It doesn't matter to you anymore?




Today the heart does not cry,

But painfully drips blood,

When you look longingly,

And put the foot on the eve.




If they had plucked it,

You wouldn't have felt it

Memories flood you,

Today as never before.




KUJTIM HAJDARI was born in Hajdaraj on April 10, 1956 in the city of Lushnja in Albania. He completed his university studies in Albanian language and literature in Albania. He worked as a literature teacher in high school. He has been in exile in Italy for years and since 2010 he has also become an Italian citizen. Now live in USA. He has written many volumes of poetry in Albanian and the last in Italian and English. He has participated in many international competitions where he has had several appreciations and awards as: The CUP of the special prize of the "GOLDEN PAGES OF ITALIAN POETRY" 2018. FIRST PRIZE for the diaspora of the Poetry Festival in Albania, 2019. The CUP of prize of the magazine "World poets and their poetry" in Romenia, 2020. FINALIST in 7 places in "Europian Poetry Championship” 2020. He was awarded the title ARTISTIC HONOR OF THE DIASPORA in 2021, by "Jehona Shqiptare" for his contribution to the National Poetry Festival in Albania, edition 4, as the Deputy Chairman of the Festival. He is elected member of the evaluation committee of poets participating in the national poetry festival to be held in 2023, organised by "Jehona Shqiptare” in Albania. Up to now, with his poems he is part of 54 national and international anthologies. His poems have been published in many newspapers in his country and abroad.

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