Oh when i was once young


Puntorie Zyba Muça

Puntorie Zyba Muça

The writer Puntorie Ziba is considered one of the first pioneers involved in the feminist movement of female authors, with notions of individuality of creative literary-identity that have classified her in Albanian papers. "Strict, sincere to phenomena, to ugliness, to freedom, and to bondage to love and hatred, with my fine intelligence was dispersed in my letters, highlighting the dilemmas of the discriminatory position of the Albanians that the usurper's eyes saw us as power in the Balkans, about the discriminatory position of Albanian women in Northern Macedonia, about female victimization and the consequences of bigotry, primitivism, always adding to the references left by the Kanun, which even today can hardly be removed by some capricious mind. Creativity as a fragile and not at all easy craft can be more subtly cultivated by a mind and a hand, or a fragile female heart that looks at phenomena, also with fragile eyes without expressing anger at solving problems through rifle barrels, swords, or knives…

Utopia 07

Let me draw your face

On my warm cheek

With purple silky skin.

Let me draft:

Eyebrow verses

meadow coloured yes

horizon lips

a chin of forest with snow

and a dove’s heart

’cos I will put them in a frame

lung coloured

and I will hang them in the wall

snow white

over the overcast bed

where i sleep alone

winter, summer.

Oh when i was once young

How much I idolised A Chain of Pearls

And the singer who sang it.

That world,

I would submit to the traveller

In the train

The bus

The plane,

And I would ask

Slowly and politely

Where they were going

And why they are travelling,

Are they scared of accidents

How many children do they have

What have they studied

What language is their language,

In what language

Is love sanctified,

Why is my language so good...

I was once young

finicky,

How I loved:

The roads, the gardens, the bushes, the flowers,

The chimneys of houses

Where people lived.

Oh when I was once young

I would mourn with the mourners

that would weep for the killed refugee

the injured veteran,

and I would hate

death.

When I was young

I would sing in weddings

Together with the paid orchestra,

I would not stop dancing

Until the groom ended the night

In the room where two days earlier we kept

The bride’s dowry.

Oh when I was once young

My concern was:

food, air, water and fire,

because my mum made me finicky. 


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