Marjola Dashi




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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