11 qershor 2011

«midnight walk»

the croaking of frogs in heat
muffled by the humid night air
sounds like the pointless ramblings
of tattling hags

wasteful sprinklers
hissing like menacing snakes
water the lush ground
and dampen the air

snails uncoil out of their shells
& lured out of their shady refuges
make an aimless run (as if!) across cemented pathways,
where people and bike wheels
in their blind, demented night tread
punctuate the monotonous midnight drone
with a crack that ends their nightly marathon
leaving behind a (half-finished) slimy trail
(a half-marathon?)
crowned by a gruesome mass of organic bits—
the lone mark of their sorry lives

i do not care to hear any of this
nor bear witness to the carnage of snails
(on better nights a good appetizer...)
and yet i keep my music-bearing vessel tucked away,
too lazy
(read, unwilling)
to choose another soundtrack
for this midnight walk

i walk decidedly,
leaving it all undisturbed,
treading lightly,
making no sound,
cracking no shells,
startling no horny toads,
leaving no mark of my own life
on the road
in the air
in the night

10 qershor 2011

«Mallëngjimi»

O vendi im, të thrras unë me mall
ktu jetë më jep vetëm kjo kangë.
Se anë e kand kudo që kërkoj
ah! si ty të dashtun nuk gjej.

Ku janë ato fusha? Ku ato kaçuba?
Vajza të bukura si n’vendin tim kund nuk ka.

I huej jam, dashuni nuk kam,
për mue nuk lind dielli ma.

O vendi im, përbuzje ku s'ka,
si të lashë e dola n'mërgim.

O Sharr, o baba im
Gërmi, pushimi im
Adriatiku im
tash vetëm po ju kujtoj.

Muharrem QENA