Presheva my wound is unhealed

And the birds of a sky don’t like solitude

They fly with a longing

In your elevation…

Bilall Maliqi, a writer, poet from Kosovo, shares his poetry

Bilall Maliqi, a writer, poet and publicist, was born in on 08.04.1969 in a village ElezBAli, municipality of Presheva. He writes poetry and prose for children and adults, he deals also with literature critics. He is the author of 43 works: poetry for children, for adults, prose for children and adults, journalism and literary critics. He has also been published in several anthologies. Maliqi is a founder and editor in chief of the magazine “Qendresa” which is published in Presheva Valley. Maliqi is president of association of Presheva writers; a member of League of Writers of Kosova, member of the board “Atunis”, and President of “Atunis Lugina” in Presheva.

PRESHEVO MY WOUND

Daily is lost a shadow

Disappears as it never was

And have no one to cry

Solitude or Earth abandoned in emptiness

Appears that even stones

Are added on corners where a soul hurt

Presheva my wound is unhealed

And the birds of a sky don’t like solitude

They fly with a longing

In your elevation

Come and engulf society

Inception in a painful house

Don’t know how to stop God

As it drips in the bloody wound

Presheva as a painting

Inserted in the circle of times

With hidden gates

And closed door towards east

With a dark spot

Pierced

In a soul white as a snow

I cry for your everyday

And Tears can’t go away

 (Ask myself)

When am i going to replace these tears

Of pain with tears of happiness

Presheva

A map extended in the veins

Of my heart

***

A LONGING FOR A SOUL

(To my Son Saudi, Immigrant)

Beyond many mountains

And hills

Is the name of my name

There it is unstoppable

Together with a burning log

For a word and embrace

Every day (he) measures

The Work with dots of sweat

And with filled tears

In a Bag of a soul

His Heart is shaken

In fastened seconds

From solitude

Embraced with Ithaca

Sees in the monitor of memories

As the happiness

Opens the wings of warmth

Only in the invaded recess

Weighed in the surrounded date

With the red pen of longing

(Translated from Albanian to English by Peter Tase)

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Read: A Longing – Poetry from Kosovo