It’s harvest time,
The parched field,
Guards you, as the bread for the soul…
The smile burns on the lips…
Such a longing!!!
Marisa Ashiku, a poetess from Albania, shares her poetry
Marisa Ashiku, born in October 1981, in Lushnje, (Albania) currently resides in Voghera, Italy where she works with autistic children and as an early childhood educator. She is an active writer in various poetry forums while getting ready for her first release of a poetry book.
TIME OF LONGING
Waiting to hear your voice…
In a timeless season
Ringing, like music in my ears…
I think and tremble
As you spread in my arteries,
Like poppies on a field of grain…
The longing has reached the golden color,
It’s harvest time,
The parched field,
Guards you, as the bread for the soul…
The smile burns on the lips…
Such a longing!!!
***
SOUND
God,
Allow me to appear,
Deep,
In his mind…
And to fall,
Like a stone,
In the abyss,
Of conscience,
With no regrets,
No returns…
As the last sound
Of existence…
***
Have you ever felt
The noisy city,
Go silent, completely
In you,
As time remains hostage,
Under the sound of the voice,
Inside the light of eyes…
Have you ever felt
The fast wind,
To entangle
On your steps
As you are on your way
Coming to me?!
The hands of longing pushing you,
To unknown streets
But all crossing through me…?
And then to stretch your hands
To touch everything that I am,
To call out loud, while drowning the voice,
Wanting to be silent,
To laugh,
To cry,
As it happens on prayer for salvation,
As you kneel by the alter,
For a little spring on your fingers,
For my breath, held on your hands,
To dress the city streets with it…
Well, that’s how I feel you…
__________________
Received from Angela Kosta Executive Director of MIRIADE Magazine, Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator, promoter
