Ligor Stafa - Poetry Cycle
Moderator 
GORI STAFA - ALBANIA
Ligor Stafa, was born on December 11, 1960 from Kukës (Albania). He graduated with a Master's degree in Economics, with a concentration in Finance - Banking, at "Luigj Gurakuqi" University in Shkodër, Albania. He writes poetry and prose.
He has published the book "Peaceful Nature" (poetry, "Konica Press" publishing house, Skopje, North Macedonia, 2009). He has published the prose book "Self-Portrait" in Albanian and English ("Muzgu" Publishing House, Tirana, 2023) He has published the prose book "Självporträtt" in Swedish (Böras, Sweden, 2024).
He is the editor of the book "Markets and Financial Institutions" (Second Edition, Shkodër 2013) with authors Prof. Dr. Elez Osmani and Rozafa Ristani, as well as of the book "Markets and Financial Institutions" (Third Edition, Shkodër 2017) with authors Prof. Dr. Elez Osmani and Prof. Dr. Ibish Mazreku. He lives in Florida, USA.
SELF-PORTRAIT
As I am not the last
Of the incomprehensible,
I create a self-portrait: "Lilliputian L.S."
In memory of my desire
To shrink
1728 times,
In memory of my friends,
Lilliputians, Who incessantly pray
For my diminution.
TOUCH
And I touch your skin, dyed in nature’s blue,
And a sinful smile slips clandestinely between us.
I am transforming into a blend of magic and belief
In this multitude of shapes, states?
And I touch your voice within my skin,
Your voice conveys to me some mineral sounds,
I touch your thirst to read the covering
Of vast imaginations.
And I touch almost your blue dream,
And the breath of subtleties slips through my hands.
Firmly, I want to feel your existence,
I want to be more.
I empty myself onto you, body and soul,
And I believe that you crafted me from nothingness,
Then you loved me,
then unfolded before me
The infinite contrasts of touch.
I SNEAK A PEEK AT YOU
I feel jazzy music under my skin,
As I ascend this porch of traps,
Walking on pink sand,
a tempting trap.
Hungering for violent affirmations,
I am in the well of cowboys intercepting escapes.
A delusional eunuch of telepathy.
Drawn to this adventure,
Where everything revolves among the untouchables,
Made by rotating shapes.
Why do I feel transported?
Before an album,
a cocktail of colours,
Hidden roundnesses.
In my brain, a poacher's smile,
An invisible hand, a writhing of lips,
breasts, knees, buttocks.
My body waits for an invitation,
a rustle of fabric begging for salvation,
Eagerly waiting to leap from the heights.
Naturally beautiful, this pink trap.
Jazz music continues beneath my skin.
(English translation by Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj)
