The mist of “I”

There are nine layers folding the “I”, and
The aerial textures harmoniously wrapped
The being immaculate virgin and innocent
The one that loves for eternity and a day more

Every word that kisses it
Feels the gentility of its skin
The transparent silk reveals
Its torso evoking sexual desires
The dormant desires

Yet the smile comes in the front of it, and
The voice infrasonic melody in the air
Foresees the further step of the prodigy
The birds in the sky show their happiness

I remain grateful

Grinding the tea

ls have been assembled
The hour was showing 25.00 after midnight
Seen by the left eye only
The hot chocolate is served with the ginger
The hard workers show their diligence

The feast is tomorrow
The day of the sleeping beauty
The holly one
The workers are hungry for change
They don’t want to abandon THE BAUTY as a whole
They therefore around the temple try
To reveal the mystery of the stone
That grinds the green element of their soul

In the mill of their will
To rejoice once again
Only for a moment

A walk

A walk

On the bay she walked before her shadow
Overcoming my smile touching its texture
Unfurling the muslin of my pleasure,
meticulously

She even walked in the front of my passion for death
Till I faint for a day and eternity more
To read the last truth in the last pages of any newspaper
Where the memoirs of beloved are manifested as grief
For the premature death of the progeny,
The “I”
Composed by myriads of souls, and
Bones and flesh dust and the sparks of light

Alas, she runs off
We run off
I run off the will for hatred

Now and just that
I love and I extinguish

BIR IHTIMAL DAHA VAR- JOE ZEYTOONIAN & MYRIAM ELI

KARANFIL DESTE GIDER-JOE ZEYTOONIAN & MYRIAM ELI

TU IM HBARD HYE AGHCHIG, SARI SIRIN YAR, HARPARTZUM YAYLA- JOE ZEYTOONIA...

Warda And Diana Karazon - Batwanness Beek (Live On Taratata)

Yasmin levy - Naci En Alamo

Sarit Hadad - Inta Omri

Mendime prej nefriti

Dëgjoj hapa të njomë,
në korridore të majta të kohës.
Pëshpëritja jote vulos,
Portat e historisë.
Koloni qeniesh të molisura,
të banuara në anën e majtë të zemrës.

Erëmojë mendimet notuese,
avullimin e esencave nga deti i vizioneve.
ti bën çapa të virgjëra gati turpshëm,
Derisa të hapet dera e cedrit,
me bagllame të arta;
e Balkisa, mbretëreshë e Jemenit nuk je,
e Solomon i fuqishmi mbret, nuk jam.

Shoh fytyrën e lagur dhe,
petkat nga lot të lagura.
Habia jote nuk pran.
Portat e zemrës sime moti janë hapur;
vetëm eja e do të shohësh,
se si aty zhytet në Dashuri



©Fahredin Shehu
12 shkurt 2011