I pathetically sympathise with myself.

Lule helmi neper fyt

Per mua

Ti rrit

Me perkujdesje prehese .

Sfera, sfera poleni ,

Gjaku im shumohet

Ne ngjitje pingule .

Kolone largpamese

Gjaku im

Qe te ndjen ty

Si zvogelohesh

Brenda retines time

Njeri prej letre

Ne varg i ngjitur

Me sy bosh

dhe zemer te holle

njedimensionale .

Shprishe me duar te mprehta

Paqen time

Per nje themelim te ri

(jo partiak) .Deshmoje

kete vizatim rrenojash

nen drite mesdhetare

perhere I trete.

Flutura -flutura

me cliron,

thellesish efemere,

Dora jote si gijotine.

Tediously.

You don`t read

In between my reticent shoulders.

Tho`words do not possess

That plantlike transparent skill

To pacify,

They reveal layers.

Always a jot of truth left behind

And seasoned irony at hand

For the awkward process

Of asserting the real aim

Down the gnarled throat.

It can be that I say,

But to be measured and heard,

In childish anticipation,

Unable to discard your image

And untangle mine.

With cold hands and

Effervescent heart, I,

Miserly, strive to outgrow

My, sympathetic,

“Forever mine only”,

Sadness.

Frymë.

E myste shtepia

Ne endrren

Time te shmangur

Ku cdo object levizes

Je ti , qe vjen I fresket

I bere

Prej material bimesh ,

Vese dhe drite

E mbush gjoksin tim

Me re te bardha

Si jastek femirije.

Pushim prej varri

Eshte mendimi im per ty

Dhe nyje e

Ezofagut tim gjitar

Qe fillon ne cep te brinjes

Ky plan ku lekunden

Shprehjet gjuhesore

Te besimit tim tek ty.

Varka .

Heshtje sferike kjo jotja

Qe pellcet si flluske

Mbi gjirin tim me

Autostrada qumeshti.

Varet ne tavanin

E zemres time

Kjo drite e plasur .

Me qendrim hardhije

Mbeshtet ti koken

Brenda mureve te mi

Dhe pushon!

When Billy comes from work on a summer day.

Draw the lines of

Cranes, cranes  fly

From my hair

To your cold lakes

One by one,

White birds of

My healthy solitude.

Bridges of sadness

I knit with their thread

Hollow my swift fingers

And challenging the act

Of weaving you . 
 

Understand shall I

The  choking energy

Of your bachelor love?

Will you become

This fleeting sight

Of dreamy  fluids

That flood me not ?

Freezes the image

Leaving you there,

The smile like a bullet hole .

Yes, if you drop dead

I`ll bury you

Right at the foot of the bridge.

Irony boat.

 

It hangs.

A thought.

Like a bat.

Like a curtain

concealing my sane curiosity.

It is a statement my lipstick.

In  front of your bare shore

My irony boat

chewing images

of fishermen.

 

Cruel.

Uncompassionate my hand

disclosing the other sky

That fuels me.

But I feel, lighthearted

The apathy of

The days to come.

On the way to my(?) home

As I walked out of the metro station, going to meet my ex-landlord in an attempt to reach a deal whith her, which basically consisted in me paying some money that I did not myself owe to her, the view opened symmetrically cut in two sides.

I pushed the stroller on the sidewalk.

On my left was the road separated in four lines, flooded with cars, noisy, full of car waste mixed in the terribly humid, sticky air; on my right laid an immense park so perfectly green, and calm in its lack of people that I was just expecting to hear its pulse and heartbeat.

And it occured to me how lately everything presented itself to me in this format of contrasts as if to show simpathy for my own unrest.

I had promised something to my husband that morning and as I walked remembering the words I had said to him I started to panick. “No I can not do that, I won`t be able to, I just can`t, I can`t!” I said to myself and my heart just went crazy, beating violently. But after two minutes I calmed down and said the opposite: “Of course I can, I just have to focus on what is really important.Besides it might work really well, who knows, right?”.

It is not hard for one to know what is important, but to accept that deep inexpungible knowledge and follow it.

And lately it had become important to me to be on my own. The thought of having a place, alone with my kids and arrange my life as simply as possible was becoming dear to me and I could wholly grasp freedom in those shots of self confidence and that sane lack of desire for anything wordly.

But my calm wasn`t meant to be and I know, I know that the only thing that kept me safe was the trust that there surely is a situation, the perfectly opposite to this one and that I would reach there.

And that blissful thought of God.

Upon entering the office where I had my appointment, I found a bench and sat down.

 

My book
this book,
the earring in my lung,
the cherries
the cherries
and the blood spot.
My God
my God
forget me not!
the flower
the flower?
or the blood spot.
The lighthouse
that floats
on the iris of my eye
this stem that strangles me
is that I
The pool
the river
this sanitary thought
hanging
hanging
at the back of my throat
Mother
my mother
did you see?!
this beating
this beating
within and against me!
Your face,
that smile
a pin in my brain
Mother
my mother
take me home sane!
The chair of your voice
I drink from my mug
Billy!
Billy!
My hands are are cut!

The new lyrics of Billy.

But Billy never came.
He is the soldier
at the feet of my new,
my brand new statue of love.
He holds the rope
but never uncovers it.
Place my heart
under the doormat,Billy
before you leave,
my heart hang it
like a beehive,
my orphan need
to press you against my chest,
to hold you under my jacket
and keep you warm.
The building blocks of my pain
are in the basket
behind the door.
The tree that made them
grows in my shoulders,
your leafy face falls there
the sweet chlorophyll smile.
I want to wipe your face Billy
with both my hands
and breathe it in.
I fold my fear neatly
this bleating rug
and smoke it .
I ` m tired Billy,
do not cut my hands!

Who`s Billy ?

“C’mon Billy”

C’mon billy
Come to me
You know i’m waiting
I love you endlessly C’mon billy
You’re the only one
Don’t you think it’s time now
You met your only son ?

I remember
Lover’s play
The car was cold and
We lay in it for days

I remember
The things you said
My little billy,
Come to your lover’s bed

Come home
Is my plea
Your home now is
Here with me
Come home
To your son
tomorrow might never come

C’mon billy
You look good to me
How many nights now
Your child inside of

Don’t forget me
I had your son
Damn thing went crazy
But I swear you’re the only one

Come along, Billy, now come to me
Come along, and come to me.

P.J.HARVEY