Mest lästa ▸
Ndrek Gjini
The weight of misfortune has stooped my shoulders
But I don’t intend to stop for a good while yet;
I afflict my own destiny
And don’t want anyone to mourn for my fate.
I’ve made peace with God on my losses
And agreed with him on the epitaphs
That should be written about my senseless wars.
In the morning light a line
Stretches forever. There my unlived life
Rises, and I resist,
Clinging to the steps of the throne.
Day lifts the darkness from the hills,
A bright blade cuts the reeds,
And my life, pitilessly demanding,
Rises forever in the morning light.
writing no in a green book
in rooms which are not yet
ready for us
writing let me be
Like a sullen orb of mercury
He sprawls across the chessboard
Shapeless,
Surrendered, to be shaped
As destiny wills him to be.
Earth trembles,
The board shakes;
Sluggish, he slithers
From one square to another.
Wind blasts,
The board shivers;
He slides from PQ2 to PQ4.
Fire spreads,
The board burns;
He waits, untouched,
Watching the curling
The day on which I was born,
The day on which I will die,
The people whom raised me,
The places where I reside,
The schools where I was a student,
The classes which I attended,
The extracurricular activities I took part in,
The degrees that I earned,
Where I was employed,
For whom I worked,
How long my stay was,
My ultimate career path,
The jokes to which I laugh,
The music that I enjoy,
The trips that I took,
It was all predestined,
Searching in all the wrong places,
Never getting it right,
Told to stop looking,
Fate will decide,
I sit at a bar,
A woman catches my eye,
Do I walk over and say hello?
Fate will decide,
It’ll happen when I least expect it,
Love will find me,
She’ll fall into my arms,
My soul mate, our destiny,
I look all around me,
Overwhelmed by the choices,
Wanting to stand idly by,
To let fate decide,
Hardest thing to do is to love someone
Who won't love you back
To be there for someone
Who wasn't there for you
To still see the best in somone
When all they tend to show is the worst..
To sacrifice for the self obsessed,
To cry without making a noise,
To choose someone over yourself,
Who will never choose you for you.
To choose the unworthy,
To give heaven to the devil,
To love someone who loves obsession more than love.
To be a giver for the taker,
To live with a restricted throat,
To neglect your truth,
I swing up the highway towards Accotane,
where a new brand of gas is to be named today.
The birds singing outside my window can't keep up
with the sound of a cassette in the darkened hallway.
Stars crash down against my windshield
at the rate of one per minute; many I don't see.
The head is splitting but I'm amnesiac;
each morning finds me in a different bed,
the same room, sheets a little duller brown.
The compulsion to meet my fate by collision
with a silver screen drives me on, selective
and uncertain, judging the curvature of the earth each moment
for a clue to the incidence of grit in my cornea.
A companion, more sensitive to the guttering drain
We want to be in relation but its too early at this age
We want to mend the things we broke but now its too late.
We were so in love but we were never actually meant.
my love, How can we go at this rate?
She reasoned, she explained
"but" is now the word he hates.
Fate wrote on their final episode "but" instead of "the end"
Hilarious how some stories break in the middle of a sentence.
Oh, you who go hurrying, worrying by
With never a cry or a call,
Saw you a lad who was standing here
On the crest of the old sea wall?
I saw him last night in the twilight
As the long low breakers rolled,
And across the bay in the chapel
An evening bell was tolled.
And we looked at each other a moment
And then from each other we turned,
But I read in his eyes of a longing
That a merciless world had spurned.
Oh, have you no answer to make me,
All you who go hastening past,
And though I am late will none tell me
Where he was standing last?
The sky was touched with tints of morn,
A wind was in the trees,
I lay in bed awakened
By the murmur of the leaves.
I listened to the chirping
Of the first-awakened bird,
And, his leather heels a-clicking,
Some lad off to work I heard.
Then my thoughts to sleep returning
Wondered briefly, of us three,
What brave paths the fates have destined
For the bird, the lad and me.
The field of our day lay ordinarily
before us. Gravity and practice
tethered our thoughts
to checklists. Helium
swelled fabric beyond wrinkled
rainbow to painted light-bulb. Up—
and foreheads; then hats and coiffures,
quickly pigment on the landscape. Cheers
littered the wind. We thought
we knew the limits. But late
in the day the continent of air between
field and cloud shrank to an urgent isthmus.
The causes were final and cited
accurately. In the meantime,
we bartered in good faith with Earth,
starting with sandbags, moving through provisions,