Arben Iliazi | Albania

For our corrections, we always need a mirror. Kujtim Hajdari’s poem “Under the Common Roof” is a powerful psychological trial that employs a more realistic perspective than the exalted optimism of the Illuminists. The world is in pain, with humanism and tolerance almost entirely absent and optimism a mirage. The poem conveys a clear message about how we should behave toward ourselves. As eternal givens, we have needs, namely, pain. Like every human activity, happiness too is the suppression of a need… of a pain. Into this category fall not only visible, real sufferings but also those desires whose restlessness disturbs our peace, making us feel the weight of our miserable, futile, and worthless existence. How difficult it is to achieve this when, as the poet says:

”In the end, we all sleep 

beneath the same shared roof of stars, 

under the covers that chance grants us, 

under the ceiling of time that follows us and laughs, 

for one day, we will go and leave everything here.”

The poet adapts sufficiently by emphasizing that tolerance is a shield against the common fate and that the perfect person in the world is the one who does not hesitate and never becomes contemptuous:

”And Tolerance, friends, is not silence,

nor clashes – it is acceptance,

a bridge that keeps us from burning,

not to bite each other.”

Therefore, man must immediately adapt to the inevitable need, do everything possible, endure calmly, not weaken the strength of the spirit, but find happiness within the bounds of the possible and the impossible, as a possibility awaiting realization, which can prepare us for endurance and may prove more powerful than truth:

“Let our minds and hearts be open windows, 

a wide gate, without waves, 

a blossoming harbor, 

a toll-free road. 

Let our differences be like rivers, 

that do not drown each other out of hatred, jealousy, 

but meet fraternally in a sea of dignity.” 

For the poet, intolerance is a waste of time and the source of our great pains, standing above all misfortunes. Therefore, we must never be compelled by human conditions and must be convinced that human existence is generally a painful fate and subject to tolerance. Otherwise, we must relinquish part of the vital forces of the future, part of our life.

Throughout the poem, a true and pure sorrow is painted, along with a hope that interpersonal relations will adapt to the roles that conventions have bestowed upon them and to the values that apply to all. And for the poet, the highest value cannot simply be that perfect organization of vital and economic values, but what is generally called by the name of happiness. And happiness is not a prisoner without salvation, caught between individual selfishness and the collective mechanism, to make humanity rest in intolerance and instinctive uncertainty. Such creations believe in the coherent fiction of a world, like a refined spectacle with many spectators, with truths that are true for everyone and with love for the universal and for the elevation of man, against the advice of life’s selfishness and the universality of a world of persons who possess no means to govern spirits. The creative thought of K. Hajdari is precisely opposed to this decline.

***

Here is the full poem:

UNDER THE COMMON ROOF

We all live under a common roof, 

all of us on this small globe of the universe.

*

We live in this world and share this ceiling,

where a thousand mirror of culture  cross, 

where numerous beliefs reflect—and give off a human light, 

where each of them tries to open a window of goodness 

toward our common roof, 

to throw more light 

into the hidden room 

of the human soul, 

to bring their own reflection, 

a new gleam.

*

Some take this reality as a flame 

burning in the palms of their hands, 

as a glass that can shatter, 

and often they feel themselves to blame. 

Others see it as a flag, 

as a second garment of ornament, 

and in the crowd 

the air becomes a storm of voices, 

an arena of thunder, 

a river of noise.

And sometimes a storm of clashes for freedom.

*

Thus, time calls us toward tolerance, 

rests its hands on our shoulders—friendly: 

Tolerance, friends, is not silence,

nor clashes – it is acceptance,

a bridge that keeps us from burning,

not to bite each other.

It’s a dialogue – collaboration, 

a weaving-together of our torn map of thoughts, 

an open door in a hard winter 

inviting the lost traveler covered with snow.

*

It is the skill of drinking from unknown wells,

of feeling rain in someone else’s eyes,

of hearing music in foreign footsteps,

without thinking of the cup of hatred and poison,

without looking crookedly at different colors,

but seeing them as mirrors that reflect human love,

as a voice that calls for warm brotherhood.

*

Tolerance asks for love and compassion. 

It is like a second heartbeat, 

like a pair of borrowed lungs, 

like a warm lamp set at another person’s gate. 

It enters another life with friendliness— 

like bare feet on holy ground, 

like a careful guest, 

like a slow hand over a frightened animal— 

asking, and offering help, not demanding: 

“Where does it hurt you?” 

“What have you suffered?” 

“Why does the dark frighten you?” 

“What name do you give inequality?”

*

Evil, friends, begins as something small: 

from a blind conviction, 

from carelessness, 

from a word thrown like mud. 

Then it irritates like a pebble in the mouth, 

like a needle behind the tongue, 

like a thorn hidden in a shirt sleeve, 

and it grows and runs like a rabid animal, 

it conquers like fire, 

it wounds like a knife that becomes a sword, 

when we leave a person in shadow, 

when we see them as a statue, 

when we put them in the crosshairs, 

when we label them many ways,

when we trample them underfoot.

*

To not honor humanity is a kind of blindness: 

to paint the world with a single color 

is a deaf hymn, 

a lone, limited sky in pain— 

as if differences were cracks and wounds, 

as if they were pollution, like weeds— 

instead of seeing them as enrichment, as lifeness,

as a new line, another window to look through,

as space to taste life more.

*

So let us become gardeners of the spirit, 

lamplighters and beacons for living, 

cartographers of mercy. 

Let us grow our sense of safety 

toward a wider horizon, 

a warm light inour eyes,

a gentler chair,

for one more place at the bread table.

*

Let our words come like a spring rain, 

like warm bread, 

keeping our hands open— 

not to win, 

but to mend, 

to cool boiling blood, 

to carry our brotherhood 

everywhere in the world.

*

In the end, we all sleep 

beneath the same shared roof of stars, 

under the covers that chance grants us, 

under the ceiling of time that follows us and laughs, 

for one day, we will go and leave everything here: 

wealth and odds and ends— 

we will take with us only the painful words: 

“Rest in peace!”

*

Let every heart become a house, 

where wounds will find a shelter for healing. 

Our life is a note we are writing— 

a brief journey we must live, 

a thin light we can lose, 

a thread we can snap so easily,

then suffer even beyond that.

Let our minds and hearts be open windows,

a wide gate, without waves,

a blossoming harbor, 

and a toll-free road. 

Let our differences be like rivers 

that do not drown one another out of hatred, jealousy, 

but meet fraternally in a sea of dignity. 

Let them be a broad breath for everyone,

the beloved light of our commonness,

under the common roof – our Earth.

Read: The Unseen – Poetry of an Albanian Exiled Poet

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Kujtim Hajdari was born in Hajdaraj, on April 10, 1956, in the city of Lushnjë, Albania. He started writing at a young age, with his poems and creations being published in the local newspaper and magazines during his middle school and high school years. After completing high school, he prepared three volumes: poetry titled ‘Will Spring Come?’, short stories titled ‘The Violinist’, and a drama titled ‘Sleepless Nights’. However, his works did not see the light of publication due to political reasons. After the change in the political system, he went into exile in Italy, where he spent many years before eventually settling in the USA. For a long period of time, he stopped writing due to the demoralization caused by the non-publication of his volumes and the threats he faced as a dissident writer, as well as the challenges of family and the difficulties of exile. He started writing again, after a hiatus of about 25 years, composing poetry in Albanian, Italian, and more recently, in English. So far his 15 poetry books have been published while his poems have been published in 66 anthologies – 12 national and 54 international, in three languages: Albanian, Italian and English. He has received numerous awards, certificates and diplomas from various web groups and associations.

Arben Iliazi was born on March 1, 1963, in Saranda (Albania). He graduated from the Faculty of Philology in Tirana in 1988. Until 1991, he worked as a screenwriter and then dedicated himself to journalism, serving as a journalist and editor-in-chief for several daily newspapers in the capital. He is known as a poet, essayist, and playwright.

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