Tuesday, July 10, 2018



We Knew Not The Separation

Statured amidst dews of petty things returned refreshed with
lungs full of Myrtle and Pine fragrance,
seeking serenity in a grotesques trammeling of worn– out Spirits
I roam, jostling fears and hopes and forgetting brand linen I ought
to wear– the only thing to be buried with…and the linen written all
over with Saffron and Rosewater all of my poems I was unable
to write on Friendship, for the poet’s sensitive Soul who once lived
in the Constellation of Peace-  the same I want to rebuild here,
and the bright stars felt upon wombs of our mother’s shall bear witness.
One day when from the bleach-white or rather Neon– light
skeleton of mine, the shine shall emit the rays from the sky– wide dome.
Again I returned from the mossy ruins I was seeking the Beauteousness
of your being  and you remember the wine we drunk even before
we knew not the separation. And there was none. As the souls of ours
merged long time ago and for eternity and a day more.


When you gaze up toward the forms of the white clouds
you find my face ablaze by the sun rays
mother or I am not...!?, wearing the brocade accoutrements
as in the bridal night,
with the hair anointed with lavender oil
with the face as a full Moon
in front of Venetian mirror
as in times when guns where shooting
while intermarry killing each other
as for who shall first pass the crossroad
between two cemeteries
one of the Plague and the other of children dead
by Measles

today when I bow down my sight and see my stomach
while earth is dragging by
somehow as I want to sing the song of the Midday
when the Sun vanishes your shadow
and the Bachelors faint
while looking bare feet escape of the Fairy with the inflamed
curly crest
the fragrance of Myrrh and Violet spreading all around
as in times when the Moon was adored as God
while Pagans prayed for the rain to fall
with bells and kelp,
elder leafs and bowing boughs
of the weeping willow folded
tomorrow we shall look straight in the eyes
seeing the lie of each other,
how it leaks as mercury in aged veins
with antimony poisoned while juvenile
and our faces will not blush out of shame
because we folded the darkness in rule
we bind it in a sack woven
in the Loom of the Sun
there where you drink the vine that never makes your drunk
where Love is done as breathtaking
and isn’t nominated as we do
there where the Word is done not uttered instead…

Distant Lands Of Remembrance

they were cooling the blood in the river nearby
immersing tattered toes after a long run so they may
at least feel the rounded stones with emerald kelp
mantled the road was harsh and the wind in hush
somehow told the muttered song for the nasty children

a flock of working bees searching for the nectar
one buzzed in the curly ginger hair of Rita
who brought to show me the wedding earrings of
her mother when I first came in that neighborhood

then I was catching the butterflies needling them
in a recycled paper I never knew they were so
to draw them afterwards with the pastel crayons
my father bought somewhere in Croatia when
he merchandised he knew what

she became a sparkling beauty and disappeared
making me never see her again even with somebody
else even with my old friends who perhaps went in
Europe to work as miracle workers wouldn’t recognize
the one  I became- old friends that mock our way of life
today that is far- far more tend to oblivion- everything
is blurred in distant lands of remembrance


FAHREDIN SHEHU was born in 1972 in the village of Rahovec in Kosovo and graduated from Oriental studies at the University in Prishtina. He is a poet, writer, essayist, editor, an independent researcher of the world spiritual heritage and sacral aesthetics, and a calligraphy enthusiast. He writes mystical and transcendental poetry, prose, essays, articles, etc. in Albanian and English. Author of 17 published books. The more recent of his works include: a selected poetry Crystalline Echoes (2011), WAF, Portugal, the collection of essays, columns, and articles on culture, art, and spirituality Makadam i Smagradtë (Emerald Macadam, 2012), the novel “Hojet” (Honeycomb, 2013), NALIVPERO (The Pen, 2014)  Arhipelag, Belgrade, Serbia,   and the epic poem MAELSTROM – The Four Scrolls of an Illyrian Sage (2014), Inner Child Press, USA, in which he writes about spiritual visions and the author’s creative unrest that oscillates between Theurgy and Revelation, Elisir (Elixir, bilingual Albanian- Italian edition 2017, Pelicano Libri, Rome, Italy). Shehu’s poetry has been translated in over 25 world languages and included in many anthologies and literary journals the world over and he is a frequent guest of literary festivals. He is nominated Author for Pulitzer prize 2018 He is also the director of the renowned international poetry festival Poetry and Wine that takes place in his birth village.  Founder of fund for Cultural Education and Heritage, (www.fekt.org).

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