Rudina Papajani - Poetic cycle (prepared Angela Kosta)
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RUDINA PAPAJANI - ALBANIA
I'VE BEEN READING YOU...
I read that the field where you dream every moment,
it's planted and not released on the surface,
is not lost to grow inside as innocent,
between the mystery and the multi-legged world,
there is a red light in the inner tunnels,
which tremble from the growth of a creature,
with invisible hands.
I am incessantly reading you,
witnessing your unseen struggles,
as you wrestle between temptation
and masculine pride.
That's why I delay to give you my arms,
my nest that is held in abeyance,
at the red small branches.
I have been reading you for a long time even
in your moments of silence,
and even when you thought the spring was late,
from invisible rains, from wordless downpours,
that came without knocking,
on a beautiful cloudless night....
(They say that beautiful loves
blooming from the sun's kiss with the earth.
They say...)
OH MAN
Oh man,
you are the unsung hero,
in the paled eyes,
of hollow words.
You are the fire that never wanes,
in the weathered skin.
You are the destiny of the smog-filled sky,
stained by human conflict.
You will feel in love with
those shimmering treasures,
with beautiful eye
and you will be destined to be consumed
by unquenchable flames.
You will plant and harvest,
amidst uncertainty
and clear skies.
You will always crush the leaves,
that once danced in peaceful exhales,
you will walk the paths of untamed grass,
among the creatures and whispers released.
Each day you will be reborn,
beside fresh sprouts,
destined to grow
near your door.
This is how you will live and die,
in hues and settings,
in chaotic times and destinies...
ERROR...
The mistake was born one day,
when the soul was wounded,
when conscience was silent,
and the guilt remained a sinner.
The mistake had no age,
it lived long,
whenever people cried,
it returned victorious.
The mistake had no tears,
a gentle nature and soul,
how often did it hurt,
it made the conscience as hard as stone.
TODAY...
the mountains watch in vain,
to help the hills,
that dwell below them.
There is nothing left,
but the ashes and the burning wind.
Only the evil tongues live properly,
they are extended somewhat too long,
and they are weighed every morning,
when the alum is separated from the sugar,
even the echoes sound hungry,
rising the hills to strip away
the mantles of the nobles.
Knowledge nowdays resides only
on the mountain's peaks,
though the wasps that sleep near a carrion,
fly in the hope of some beehives.
They eagerly await the SUN ,
Some believing it will rise after
"midnight"...
YOU WILL BE BACK ONE DAY..
(DO KTHEHESH NJË DITË)
You'll be back one day,
where the bubble of light
kisses and prays
from the love of life.
You'll be back one day,
where a flower is planted,
and the soul becomes a red rose.
And if you turn the branch into a stubborn rebellious trunk,
even the sea that touched you will not forgive,
nor the soil that nourishes your roots
will hold you,
not even the mother who raised you in the dark;
there will be no longing for you...
Prepared: Angela Kosta
