Fahredin Shehu
January 2012, Prishtina, Kosovo
The Red Scarf
…and the cold breeze of January
Freezes actual feelings and memoirs
In the quartz I see your face, Dad; I recall now
You argue telling me to behave as in my actual age.
The child in me I pamper for so many years
Rebellious; yet calm stands in the front, kneeled
Yet Proud, never denied what he got from heavens
You planted those seeds tiny as Sequoia’s; now the tree
Reaching the whiteness of the Clouds and I miss you so much
Reis is constantly singing your name as Nightingale
In the vast yard of the Temple
Where two rivers gurgling their remembrance
I dare not cross the path leading to the Shrine
Until it has a Call for the Souls as I possess
She opens the window from where we saw
Halogens warmly overwhelming the Landscape
The bottle of Million pink Champagne
Few hours before the rooster has to sing the awakening
Her hair as clean as silk and the eyes pure Lapis Lazuli
…and the silhouette of maternal care embodied in a Lady
The fear for loss of the last galactic endowment is omnipresent
I stand a whirling Tornado; in velocity dispersing what the men
Calls Blessing, not only for Men but for all of the “All"
© Fahredin Shehu, January, 2012.
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