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You are here: Home / Poetry / Continuity | Irsa Ruçi

Continuity | Irsa Ruçi

August 26, 2016

1     

I knew my grandparents by how they cultivated their land
In their form of fingers interrelating
While the line of life
Had to start in the east
They wake up with the crown of sun every morning.

As a borderline between what belonged to them
And the indifference for what did not
Were the graceful oak trees
Equal with the age’s roughness
That just to bother
Threw its shade in the neighbour’s garden
Who my grandpa always mentioned
With a little envy
Because his trees gave more fruits.

The adour of sail while it was cultivated
I remember it even today… reminds me of childhood
Generations are raised by memories!

Ah, I haven’t forgotten the offenses of my grandparents
Their silent curses for those who stole a little grape across
The street (never in their proud touched).

Now, that I tread that earth with a bunch of dreams in my hands
I feel that in it there’s again essence
That time wouldn’t fade away!
Everything has died because of the winter cold
But the amaryllis of the earth inherited a spring that will ever cherish…

© Irsa Ruçi       (Translated by Silva Daci)


Vazhdimësi

Unë i njihja gjyshërit e mi nga mënyra sesi punonin tokën
në formën e gishtërinjve që lidhen mes tyre
ndërsa vija e jetës
e kishte pikënisjen në drejtim të lindjes,
ata zgjoheshin me kurorën e djelltë çdo mëngjes.

Si kufi ndarës ndërmjet asaj çka u takonte
dhe indiferencës për pjesën që s’u përkiste
patën vendosur lisa
hijerëndë
të barabartë me vrazhdësinë e asaj moshe
që dukej se për inat
hijen e hidhnin mbi baçen e komshiut,
të cilin im gjysh përherë e mbante nëpër gojë
paksa me zili,
sepse pemët e tij lidhnin më tepër frute.

Aromën e dheut teksa punohej
e mbaj mend edhe sot… më risjell pranë fëmijërinë
brezat rriten me kujtime!

Ah, nuk i kam harruar dhe sharjet e gjyshërve
mallkimet nën zë për ata që vidhnin
pak rrush buzë rruge
(kurrsesi s’lejonin t’u prekej krenaria).

Tani, e shkel atë tokë me një tufë ëndrrash në duar
ndjej se nëpër të ka aromë pleqërie
që koha s’ka mundur dot ta largojë;
çdo gjë përreth është tharë nga ftohtësia e dimrit
por amaneti që toka trashëgon sërish një pranverë do lulëzojë…


Indian Review | Literature and Poetry | Author | Irsa Ruçi  

Indian Review | Literature and Poetry | Translator | Silva Daci

Authors : Irsa Ruçi 


Irsa Ruçi a poet from Albania writes for Indian Review.

Translator : Silva Daci 

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Categories: Poems, Translated Poems

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