Platonic
Spiritus
Platonic
spirits, born
Under
the tree of your garden,
With
the smell of medlar
Of
early autumn.
Yellowed
memories
Are
stuck between branches,
Like
my arms,
Like
your arms,
Like
the Botticelli painting
With
the angel who never tasted it.
Platonic
Spirits!
My
reason to smile…
A
reencounter of stars scattered on the lips
With
naked sunsets, softly
Sleeps
in the home of memory.
Your
eyes…
Light
up like a lighthouse in the ocean of blue pearls
With
the mermaids tenderly
Hiding
under shells.
Platonic
Spiritus, a mirage
Of
a world made of sand…
SPIRITUS
PLATONIK
Spiritus
platonik, i lindur
Nën
pemën e kopshtit tënd,
Me
aromën e mushmollës
Në
prag vjeshte.
Kujtime
të zverdhura
Kanë
ngecur nëpër degë,
Si
krahët e mi,
Si
krahët e tu,
Si
piktura e Boticelit
Me
ëngjëllin, që s’e shijoi kurrë.
Spiritus
platonik!
E
qeshura ime...
Një
rinjohje yjesh derdhur nëpër buzë,
Me
perëndime të lakuriqta, butësisht
Fle
në shtëpinë e kujtesës.
Sytë
e tu...
Ndizen
si far në oqeanin e perlave blu,
Me
floçkat e ujit ëmbëlsisht
Fshehur
nën guaska.
Spiritus
platonik, mirazh
I
një bote prej rëre...!
Our
Sunday
Our
Sunday fled from Bible
Verses,
to provide us with
The
emotional idyll, in the Promised
Land.
The
water lily spreads it petals…
Our
bodies, floating on
The
boat into which the leaf is made,
Memories
of the platonic
Past.
Time
holds in his hands
The
eye sparkle, the smell
Of
skin, the lymphatic conception.
We
kill the sunset with the kisses,
The
eye of the moon hides its lashes behind
Cattails.
Our
Sunday
Longs
for the warm smell
Of
coffee, on early dawns.
E
DIELA JONË
E
diela jonë iu arratis vargjeve
Të
Biblës, për të na dhënë
Idilin
emocional, në Tokën
E
Premtuar.
Zambaku
i ujit hap fletët...
Trupat
tanë, lundrojnë në
Gjethen
e varkëzuar,
Kujtimet
e së shkuarës
Platonike.
Koha,
na mban në dorë,
Shkëlqimin
e syve, aromën
E
lëkurës, ngjizjen limfatike.
Perëndimin
e vrasim mbi puthje,
Syri
i hënës, qerpikët i fsheh pas
Kallamishtesh.
E
diela jonë
Ka
mall për aromën e ngrohtë
Të
kafes, mëngjesit me ag.
Aphrodite,
In Glass
The
breath of Olympus swims peacefully above waters,
With
iconic lips touching the salty surface.
The
white skin becomes pearly on the waves,
With
the smell of roses it raises the divine body.
A
shudder in the air… lust and passion light up
The
eyes foaming with the blue,
And
the kisses, traveling on the chariot
Of
doves with the airy feathers.
Eros,
don’t keep the arrow in the bow,
And
take the iris out of that lustful eye
Which
in the lower belly has been transformed
Into
nymph tear copulas.
AFËRDITË,
NË QELQ
Frymë
e Olimpit noton lehtas mbi ujëra,
Me
buzët – ikonë prek ashtin e kripur.
Lëkura
e bardhë, perlëzohet ndër dallgë,
Me
aromën e trëndafilit ngre kurmin divin.
Trandje
në ajër… epsh dhe pasion ndezin
Sytë
e shkumëzuar me të kaltrën,
Dhe
puthjet, udhëtojnë mbi karrocën
E
pëllumbave me pendët e ajrit.
Eros,
mos e ndal shigjetën e harkut tënd,
Dhe
syrit, nxirrja irisin epsharak,
Që
në fundbark është shndërruar
Në
këpuja lotësh nimfatike.
Marjola
Dashi
Marjola Dashi was born in Fier, Albania (1980). She
finished her Higher Education in Tirana, majoring in Linguistics /World
Literature (1998-2002). She worked in the Public Library of Fier and
specialised in the major of Librarianship. She was appointed as the director of
the Library in 2006 until September 2007. After that she started working at the
Library of University of New York, Tirana as a librarian and Head of the
Library. Marjola has also worked as
coordinator for Albania for the Electronic Information for Libraries. ( EIFL. Net ) since 2008. In the time period
of 2013-2015, she has also worked as a coordinator of UNESCO in the field of
libraries. She has participated in poetic festivals in Albania, Kosovo and
Macedonia. In 2015 she published her first book under the title: Kronika e
ngjyrës së Hirtë “ = A Chronicle of the colour Grey”. The book was praized from
reviewes, analysts and readers.
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