Kujtim Morina was born in 1972 in Has district of Northern Albania. He graduated from the University of Tirana / Albania with a degree in Mathematics (1994), and studied Law at the University of Shkodra / Albania (2004), and also has a Master in European Studies from the University of Graz in Austria (2008). From 1999 to 2009, he worked with international organisations in Kukes region like UNHCR, CARE and OSCE. Currently, he works in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and lives in Tirana. So far, he has published the poetry books: “Drunkenness under the fog”, 2007 and “Return of eyes”, 2010. Also, he has translated poetries of Niels Hav (Denmark), Linda Hogan (USA) and Asanda Gonya (South Africa). He writes short stories as well.
Featured Poetry of Kujtim Morina
The moon cracked
like a big silver bulb.
Its pieces went to fall
in the evening’s echo.
Walkers of the night picked them up,
carrying on their backs like the little fires.
Earth calmed down in a lifeless vision.
Darkness broke out from holes and corners.
Eyes of people pleading to the sky,
to save the eye-sockets,
piece by piece reframed the moon,
our vanished creature,
grey and overhearing,
out of people’s reach out of their mind.
Sometimes at full, other times at half
Being created night after night,
it’s not anymore fragile.
Fades away by appearing the dawn
when the people tired,
asleep they fall
The ceaseless tick-tock of the clock,
awakes me from wintry anxiety
and from sloth’s circle.
When the full 60 minutes circle is done
the hands drop an announcing sound.
Then climb up or come down,
in their rotating course of augur ill.
We hear it better when we are alone.
The time treads synchronously with heart
like mouse that gnaws things endlessly.
Then sees that there hasn’t remained
not even a spot to delve the head into.
Especially the clock hanged up on the wall,
has something in common with our destiny,
hanged up in the blue of space,
being swayed by the aerial current
not knowing where it comes from
or where it goes to
Everyone has his good or bad hour.
Those on hurry to reach it quicker,
just win the rotations.
Farewell o my adoring sun,
that slips slowly in the evening hole.
You are returning in origin with your lost shine,
carrying with yourself the memory and departure,
twinkling of the eyes shining from afar.
Your existence halves space,
while hiding behind crests and peaks,
or in the blood-stained line of the wavy sea.
The sunset is burning in spectrum of the colours,
in nostalgia and endless love,
Watchman of calamities and faithful of the planet,
you wander boldly in the foliage of the day,
with the curse of marginalised people thrown on the arms,
The last rays flickers, sincere creatures.
in the future horizon that doesn’t laugh again,
transitional shades stroll until late,
until dusk in the background notifies for the closing.
The River of Love
Everyday we nurture the river of love,
which we created somewhere in between us.
We care to increase the inflows,
through adding the streams and torrents,
We clean it from splinters and garbage,
that water to be as pure as crystal.
We feed it during the daytime with uncontrolled fantasy,
and at night with bold dreams,
Then we go out together and sail in a boat,
in the virtual river of love.
We move the sails in a row,
We burn the ardent passion.
We swing until late in the evening,
sometimes swimming and then with small boats,
We caution against approaching the deep whirlpools,
lest we drown.
It is rough, the drowning
in the azure river of the love.
Storm of the Brain
without leaving turn to each-other.
They blow like strange winds.
They cross, and mix in the brain.
I don’t know where to concentrate,
what to keep and what to throw,
in this dizzying speed.
Often, I say to myself,
to escape in a corner of the world,
or to rise in a fluid space,
not very far from others but myself.
At least, to save memory’s steam,
from this unexampled pressure.
Then to take things calmly,
with fresh and light mind.
The Bleeding Stars
Once the stars descended on earth.
They spread in a shapeless way,
at the top of the trees, in the shelters of the houses,
in caves, holes, rocks, everglades
like the spies of the night
Because they could not hide their bodies,
soon they fell prey to vandal attacks.
Lovers hit them with stones,
fearing the secret of love could be revealed.
Thieves of the night gathered the stars like a string of beads,
then they hit and kicked them with heavy objects,
aiming at losing their light, and shine.
They made the stars bleed and flung them into night,
not being able to extinguish like the virtual fire.
Buccaneers of the sea dived in depth,
searching in vain for the hidden beacon in the water.
Most of the people present in the houses,
woke up from the blazing light.
Some of them showed up at the windows, powerless
to help out the stars, they prayed for them.
While, others pondered with pleasure the frightening scene.
The persecuted stars struck children in their dreams,
when waking up, they were calmed down by adults.
Then the moon alarmed.
Called the stars up in the sky,
thus wounded, stressed
but not blind.
It decided not to send them back on earth,
reasoning that it’s better they shine dimly
from infinite distance rather than with their presence.
At times, a star leaves the sky for the earth,
like a martyr without salvation.
Translated from Albanian language by: Selami Haklaj
Copyright © 2011 Kujtim Morina