The Poetryzine Magazine presents the selected poem by the Albanian poetess Irma Kurti
The last walk
We were walking together,
mother; and I couldn’t understand
why you said nothing, as in
silence, you cried.
I was more confused than you
as I asked “Why do you cry?”
Your glance was fixed in
space, your hand touching
mine.
I didn’t know that was our last
walk, though you seemed to
understand. You were sorry for
yourself, for me on the way to
leave this world.
You felt sorry—you wouldn’t see
me, you wouldn’t hug me anymore,
you wouldn’t enjoy those green parks,
the kiss of the sun’s rays in the morning.
If I’d known it would be our last
walk, I would have kept you in my
arms.
One more step
My steps were not obeying
the rhythm of my heart.
Immersed in thoughts, I felt
something was dying
inside.
In that small world of
yours
there was no space for me;
this street wouldn’t be
ours anymore;
now filled with dead leaves.
One step and yet another—
this would be the last
time;
a few moments to see you
and tell you, “Goodbye.”
Tears
I’ve cried much even in my dreams,
with humid eyes I have woken up.
I was drowned in a puddle of tears
in the eternal farewell to my mom.
I’m not certain if there are still left
other drops of rain, dew, or tears,
I just don’t want to shed anymore
I want to live in peace and oblivion.
It’s not a dream
I don’t know if it’s the
alcohol; in my eyes you’re so
handsome. Tell me it’s all
real—
not a figment of my imagination.
Tell me it’s still you—
You who were close to me
once; you, who once were my
world.
You made me suffer, stirred all my
feelings as if that were the first time I
loved.
Thousands of verses I dedicated to you,
sleepless nights and a sea of hot tears.
Kiss me; touch me; let me
understand I am living—it’s not a
dream.
One day
One day you won’t be
jealous; you won’t admire me
in silence. When I come home
late,
you won’t ask me: “Why?”
You won’t sleep with my
image; won’t wake up
dreaming of me. I’ll not be part
of your thoughts;
my voice won’t sound like a melody.
You won’t keep me in your
heart; we’ll debate, maybe
without end. I’ll get tired and
break into pieces; I’ll feel pity
for us, for myself.
I hope I won’t live till that day;
I hope that day never comes
when, like a dream or a
memory, you bring me into your
mind.
The walls don’t belong to me
This magical sunset fixes snowflakes
as they fall confused and disorderly,
falling in love with each one of them.
I stay motionless in front of my house,
I don’t feel any desire to enter,
to be wrapped in its oppressive heat.
Tonight, the walls don’t belong to me
I am one with this white landscape,
it doesn’t let go, it keeps me hostage.
The snow melts, as part of the show,
thousands of crystals on my shoulders
just like infinite kisses given by love.
My soul is mutated into a light feather,
with snowflakes it wanders in the air,
I cannot escape from it; I have to wait.
And then, together turn home.
* Irma Kurti is an Albanian poetess, writer, lyricist, journalist, and translator. She is a naturalized Italian. She has been writing since she was a child. All her books are dedicated to the memory of her beloved parents Hasan Kurti and Sherife Mezini, who supported and encouraged every step of her literary path. Kurti has won numerous literary prizes and awards in Italy and Italian Switzerland. She was awarded the “Universum Donna” International Prize IX Edition 2013 for Literature and the lifetime nomination of “Ambassador of Peace” by the University of Peace of Italian Switzerland. In 2020, she received the title of Honorary President of WikiPoesia, the Encyclopedia of Poetry. In 2021, she was awarded the title “Liria” (Freedom) by the Arbëreshë Community in Italy.
Irma Kurti has published 23 books in Albanian, 17 in Italian and 6 in English. She has written about 150 lyrics for adults and children, including in Italian and English. She is also the translator of 10 books of different authors and of all her books in Italian and English. She lives in Bergamo, Italy.
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