Posted by: tsopr | April 26, 2010

Fahredin Shehu, Kosovar Poet

Fahredin Shehu, poet/essayist, born in Rahovec, South East of Kosova, in 1972. Graduated at Prishtina University, Oriental Studies follows M.A. in Literature. Actively works on Calligraphy discovering new mediums and techniques for this specific form of plastic art. To know more about this poet, read here:

            Featured Poetry of Fahredin Shehu


The army of nobodies

They’ve encroach the grass of the neighbor’s territory
I was not the neighbor that sowed saplings of Sycamore tree
My pomegranate garden
Unfolded leafs and showed luxurious fertility
And brought the Balm of Gilead
Straight from Parsifal right in the center of the orchard
A huge shadow ficus religiosa
You may circle around
Exactly one thousand years in a row
But they will not allow you to enlighten
Amidst them I was crowded
Absorbing consciously
The odor of their emptiness
Yet I shall recite again the 99th Psalm of Celestial Intelligencer

Pity myself
Scars on my face
Each time I forgot to mention God’s name by every breathe taking
Conscious process
I may sing Joy
Oh pity nobodies yet you are unable to feel what you possessed in your veins
In vain I may call freedom
To establish its conquest but you are the pity ones that swallowed
All your dreams and hopes


There’s only a dew of elixir in the bottom of the empty cup sleeping as lamb
Now they call it heart, I call it polluted spirit, and you may call it ruby pomegranate granules
But we the simplest so called human entities jointly may only Love and this is sufficient
To suffer for the thousand years and a day more

The one who cares not is the luckiest mundane ignorant but I’m the one alike who outpours his quintessential not knowing for whom
Not knowing for what reason a purpose never show its glamour in advance
For warning, for love or even for sake of its purest manifestation

In times when words were queued in the thread abundantly curved in bobbin from the human scalp
The necklace of verse is fading its shine no sparkling truths gurgles from its spring to obey our thirsts
We the thirsty souls for divine morsel wandering in here as the spirits of suicide victims
Empty stomachs of enfant terrible only for the grasp of the truth they never hear even as the sound of insect
Never as the sound of falling frozen spirit in jade that you may later see as the Galatea of divine maternal essence
A cornucopia of latent blessings waits
A deficit of Love outbursts proudly displaying its genitalia without a drop of shame
I wander as a working bee searching for the nectar of wisdom to feed my Queen bee
And bestow her eternal life with the royal jelly leaking elegantly from the bottom to the navel

Charged circle


Empty cans
No liquid evaporated
In the air full of pride
Polluted grains of soul
Lost their consistency
Pure fluids of light
Erupts as marshmallow bombs
Death squad penetrates deeply
Aiming to meet Anubis
A Tsunami whirled its wish
Passion and glutton declared independence
The dream of becoming a parallel nation
To co-habit with leukemia of creativity
A sex drive 4×4 retired
A crippled veteran of passion
Bags for the mercy of soulless utilitarian army of human entity
Better said plankton a homo-plankton of miserable creatures
Even worms and larva are disgusted by our hatred
Fecal, a skunk of fear
An eclipse of love that spans for ages
From birth to death
A spectrum displays its ripeness
Ejaculates liberty as blast
A dazzling dance of shaped and amoeboid forms of manifestation
Bitter the honey with suffer
Powder a chamomile with royal jelly and ginseng
All of sudden a wind blows
Spores of the old pines


The soul of parallel nation of Angeloid
Is striving pleasure of life?
Lives now
Perpetually woofs a rainbow muslin with the divine light
Inter-woofed dress
Newborn immaculate fellows
Oh those smell of paradise
Mint, Neroli, Oakmoss, Amber
A bouquet of divine pleasure
And Acacia kissed by a queen bee
Yes the queen of Enneagram
Of course
The work produces sweet essences
Oh Sarmouni of our Millennia
Melt the cataract-ic lance so they may see the beauty
Heal the flu so they may smell fresh ozone
A charged circle of light and love
Remove the pulp from the reed
So may divine tune perform light?
May be your torchbearer
In the dark valley and by then you may see a spectrum
That encircles an infant fear
For an eternal life
Yet I kiss that that time sequence
Where Jin and Jang harmoniously co-habit
I a Feng Shui of Love
Defragmenter of hate’s files
Zipper of dark matrixes
So you may know they do exists
So you try them in order to enjoy the sweetness of life’s honey
In this porcelain valley
Where goodness and mischief
Hand in hand are gliding furiously
Alas pure the morning with dew of love
Oxidize hate with apple vinegar
Sing to celebrate both solstices and have a cup of vine
That swoon you
That filters all starry
Cells of brain and ganglia
Perfume her navel with rosewater and kiss, kiss, kiss
Do a divine Tantra
With all visible and invisible and semi-visible spirits
Kiss topaz of her eyes
Kiss ruby of her heart
Kiss diamond of her nail
Kiss cooper of her feet ankle
Kiss jade of her bones
Kiss sapphire of her cells
And a flame-y waterfall of hair
And a silky pubic…
Oh…kiss and kiss and kiss whatever belongs to her
Make her a necklace
With your purest and noblest spermatozoids
Then call her as you wish
Wisdom, Hikkmah*, Sophia**
Or simply Goddess that makes you Angeloid.

* Arabic for wisdom, we disregard language we are concentrated on substance on quint essence
** Greek for wisdom


You kiss me and stamp my existence
I kiss you and melt in God’s essence

The granular spittle that remains in my throat
A long day between winter and spring
My state known only by friends few of them
My Love felt by every creature
The bastards that sprinkles with their hatred
And those that converts their names and faith
This suffocating visible plurality of creatures and bizarre manifestations
My spiritual nervation has strengthened
Soul cells are dancing the muttered nation’s dance called Love
Those who make sex in the air as flies’ foals hatred babies
Can you kill babies is our question
We the invisible plurality of divine creatures and manifestations
We the perpetual Theophany coruscate in pure hearts
As Sun in the dews of mornings full of vetyver, ambergris, limonene, fragrance and a slight skunk of civet, moschus and the sweat men by labor exhausted
We speak we sing we paint
With the act without exhaling a syllable from our holly mouths
We sprinkle with the aureate dust
Straight we look at Saturn ring color eyes and the color of peacock tale feather
We built a cube temple and play chess in cube
We love the terrain where the guests of Moses and Lot before him had passed through
We sing with Seraph of high realms we sing in sync
Here we bring joy in hearts of those who encroached in procession through emerald macadam
Where you seldom pass
We know by heart the Al Jaffr and ten Sefirots and we read the Liber Razielis
We accompanied Adam Kadmon in his solitude prior to separation and embodiment in terrain that will be bloodied by human through centuries
We have said to John to go in the river Jordan baptize the Christ and lead him on
For those who knows a little
We said to Waraka to prepare Muhammad to become the leader of those who seek the truth
We said to Bahaullah to explain men to take after women and the mother Earth
Otherwise in upcoming millennium the solely food of them shall be kernels and water
We said to Gibran commence the Theurgy for upcoming millennium being as solely artistic repose for creative men
We said to Fahredin write as much as possible and hush as a canyon stone
Until he finds his echo point

Eternal something…

The world will follow your steps
Discovering the mysteries of roses
Emerged from your footsteps

It’ll watch the image where
Your face will nourish
The cost of their glutton

They will see in your forehead
The blood-dots under epidermis
The prints of Sagittarius constellation
Amidst the shores of emerald sparkling leafs
Life-giving leafs
Remained after a serial blasts
They’ll wander
They’ll build the Tabernacle for their progeny
They’ll learn the lesson
The primordial one
They have forgotten through eons
And reunion with the ether-ic double
Somewhere wandering
In the vast space of cosmos
The visible and invisible
The perceptible and imperceptible

They will understand that they are now
Hardly human to rejoice in their small community

Everything will be different

A mandrake for love

Bursts of desires only shows
How much terrestrial my soul
Became rude and even vulgar
Was it mingled with all so called human?
And got their color
To utilize its aptitudes of adaptability
Yes it was
A merchant
Pure miser
No love to flourish so far
Awaiting a breeze in equatorial heat
A desert of remnants
Ashes and bones
A carbon valley so visible
No possibility to burn again
Roots of poisonous plants has assembled forces
Yet love transforms them into honey
A mandrake for love has been bought
By a longing parent
A mother
A goddess of love
To heal all, all, all…
Wounds manlike creatures
Commissioned to dismay the cosmic spark
As in a fertile soil sowed
In a flesh
The body
The human body they call
And to decay it
For eternity and a day more


Assembled forces
Around the heaven of the Moon
The heaven of Gabriel the Holy
Influences the beings
Fragile to death
Who can pull out the geese bird?
From the clay pot
Without breaking it
Not the life’s ignorant disciple
Nor the Sisyphean planetary orphan
Neither the life’s exhausted ascetic
A key-maker a treasury holder

Yet I do want to embrace the whole
Visible and invisible entities
You may celebrate your prodigy
And mock my naivety
And immeasurable love
I’ll do this until I dry
As a dew
Until I become a piece
Missing from terracotta
Kept for ages in the sand of Baghdad
Where Shamash made crisps from
The skin of the humans
So they may think they’re
Red eye killers

The Emerald Macadam

I have passed through
The narrow canyons of cerebrum
While listening odes of mature cells
Vibrating slowly
And a fresh Pine resin, Oak moss and fresh Ozone winded my hairs
Inside my nose
Plugged my alveolus ready to burst of indescribable pleasure
I’ve heard sounds of sprinkling blood
From my wounded feet
Leaving blueprint of the thirsty soul…
Knowledge, Wisdom and Enlightenment
That slowly bows in a front of God
Only by us called LOVE
In an emerald macadam to show the path
To the following procession of creatures
From all Gurdijeffian Octaves
Which as a golden fig are blossoming from within?

You may call me outpour of passion
And you’ll not be mistaken

You may call me lanolin extracted from merino
And you’ll not be mistaken

You may call me a broken porcelain soldier
And you’ll not be mistaken

You may call me a bee that soaks the nectar from thousands of roses
And you’ll not be mistaken

You may call me a yellow topaz
A child of carbon
And you’ll not be mistaken

You may call me a felt petal of the white rose
And you’ll not be mistaken

You may call me believer who prays for the sins of human multitude
And you’ll not be mistaken

You may even call me human that mix with angels unaware of his innocence
And you’ll not be mistaken

But I know
I know spirit does not have a gender
The wind misses the color
The grass is painted green by transparent rain
Alchemy is a transformation of mother’s milk into blood
Heaven is nature and man is Hell
But the Mother is God in Heaven and Earth
Thus I’m hardly a human.

Questions of Angeloid

Am I plain stone?
To be thrown far from the eyesight

Am I skin of the tiger
To be stepped by soulless merchant

Am I blood soaked by relative fellow?

Am I a lost tribe’s leader?
To be adored as saint

Am I lost prophet?
To be searched in caves where the Jinni settled his colony

Am I a Jurassic fossil?
To be displayed in a crystal cube

Am I a jasmine essence?
To be smelled after third millennium

Am I lost planet
The curse of mankind

Am I paradigm of goodness?
To be diminished by surrenderance

Am I perfect mischief?
To be hailed as a Gospel chant

Am I wing of purple angel
To bring you shade
While you search for knowledge

Am I supersensible tune?
To be played by enlightened heartstring

Am I aerial spirit?
To bring you storm
In a midday when the sun
Reads its quatrain

Am I a cosmic fluid?
To be dispersed as a star dust

Am I divine enough?
To rejoice for a cosmic harmony

Am I the bell from the angel’s wings?
To bell the beginning of a new prophecy

Am I a saint that shows hardly his miracle?
To be later adored as Godling

Am I pure water from the desert’s spring?
To be drunk on the moment of death

Am I death of Art?
To be reborn by Theurgy

Am I a drunken lover in Love?
To be perished in the quantum of photon

Am I stupid to reveal a new discovery?
So you may pity or
You may salute and laude
And so, and so, and so on.

Bewilderment of Alien

Demons are mocking us
Angels are compassioning us
Aliens are bewildered why these…
Are killing each other?

Copyright © 2010 Fahredin Shehu
©Photo by Bruno Fert* – Paris

* Bruno Fert, Winner of second prize, World Press Photo



  1. A Wonder without an Identity
    by poet
    Fawzi Al-Shalabi
    A Wonder without an Identity

    And the secret remains in your eyes a pearl
    Expressing…everything which wasn’t

    So granted the heart a skater

    And when the nights are narrowed us to live…
    Besieging us bundles of love sometimes
    Trait of a thing… we aware …and touch
    Lives in vibrations of the lightening

    A wonder without an identity
    In the silence was the nectar
    And sneakily blaspheming in the pulse was the fire
    Holding light of the hope
    Playing surviving melody
    Explosion crown of the polluted sadness
    In blood…with the tears
    And still a pleasure there in your eyes
    A fertile nursery…the salvage
    To the failures of a catastrophe touch
    Sensing you in my blood
    Crevices of freshened emotions
    To land of such a plant
    From the pain of the crowd
    An existence
    Decanting the sense state
    From dispersion of the memory


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