Varg i rastësishëm - Casual verse

E kam mendjen kaos Udhëkryq. Jam një ishull rrethrrotullor; Drejt meje vërsulen makina në vrulle; Biçikleta, autobuzë, në orën e pikut; Hamendje shoferësh, hezitime kursantësh Borije bezdish, peshë e rëndë sharjesh; Njerëz. Kaos; Drejt meje vërsulen dashuri të papjekura, borxhe Lotë të ngrohtë tradhëtish bashkëshortore Shpërfillje komshinjsh të pa presantuar kurrë Reklama krishlindjesh Shpresa të pashpresa Sajesa Njerëz. E kam mendjen kaos Prej meje, kapilarë udhësh ushqehen ndotshëm Prej tymrash, dielli vezullon ndryshe Sikur të isha dallëndyshe! Por, jam veç një ishull; një rrethrrotullor Pres e përcjell jetë njerëzish Ata me shajnë se jam në mes të udhës; Njerëz Inatçorë! E kam mendjen kaos Rreth meje vërtiten destinacione të paqarta Instruksione satelitore, drejtime Dialekte të panjohura, thekse Memecëri në boksa shpirtrash, që ulërisin Të thonë të pathënën Me heshtje… Frikë Kaos;

It may be too late, an arm to stretch now your way But you just smile, and that just may mean, that I may To say a word, I'm hopping you have longed to hear; To halve your pain, your wanted answers to make clear! Though long may be, since trust amongst we needn’t fake In those new times, I know, the words too often break; But, long since then, I’ve walked along with reflection Beliefs you’d sowed, have grown within into perfection… I wish I could, inside your soul to drop my eye To see the waves, of pain it caused you, my “Goodbye!” It is unlikely, I ever may forgive my sin, even though You say I’m selfish, and too mean; I wish I could, beyond your smile, to see my meaning Even if, the reading would not make me beaming; All it’s left I thought it’s yours, - again I wronged; All you’d needed, was the warmth of love, and to belong… I am rushing judgement, again, as did those years ago When perfection, though high I keep, I rated low I better ready to look

When he returns from work, tired he may be, but His tiredness is not understood; From school their youth have returned, (nowhere to be seen) May be busy playing games in their room. Downstairs, his wife her voice raises, Before he undoes his laces: ‘I want that shed down because the spring is racing Yours are so slow, your paces’ And he thinks his children’s honorary grandma Has been on the phone to her again Grandma’s retired and his wife likewise Has nothing to do, but rein! He tell her often, through his silence That a handful soul he’s been left But, she seems to understand only her defiance While he feels like a victim of theft! Perparim 2011