{"id":9159,"date":"2021-07-05T18:31:34","date_gmt":"2021-07-05T18:31:34","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/revistakuvendi.org\/?p=9159"},"modified":"2021-07-05T18:31:34","modified_gmt":"2021-07-05T18:31:34","slug":"poezia-atdheu-im-e-poetit-astrit-bllaca","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/revistakuvendi.org\/?p=9159","title":{"rendered":"Poezia \u201cAtdheu im\u201d \u2013e poetit Astrit BllACA"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

– P\u00ebrkthyer  n\u00eb  Anglisht nga Raimonda MOISIU <\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My Motherland!<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

(Dedicated To All\nImmigrants)
\nWritten in Albanian by Astrit BLLACA <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Translated into\nEnglish by Raimonda MOISIU <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My Motherland, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was whispering so loud, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

In my mother\u2019s tongue,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I was a little kid,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In a strange and foreign land!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bite after bite, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Even with\nmy eyes closed,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Memories are taking my mind,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Back to the nights as day, days as night,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I had nothing left to eat,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And one small child running barefoot,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Like I always wanted to rest <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Upon the sweet lap of the motherland! <\/p>\n\n\n\n


\nMy Motherland, my Fatherland,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m all\ngrown up now; I\u2019m a big man! <\/p>\n\n\n\n

My Homeland, I seek in vain, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Out in the endless space I ride!  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A fully-grown man, but I still feel like a kid,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That wants his mother and shakes the door <\/p>\n\n\n\n

as it hurries past…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, My Motherland, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tell me, where to find you, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t really know where to find you, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is no hint left on your ground, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

But here and there,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still any broken bones whiten behind,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But here and there,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s a place where all searches end,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Where I planted my roots! <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, My Motherland,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They\u2019ve banished me from your lap,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Where I was born, since they grabbed you,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They want you for themselves!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They\u2019ve banished me like a reckless son,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Being abandoned by a father, too! <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh Motherland,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I Left, taking to the open roads of\nthe world, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Left, leaving other half of my soul behind! <\/p>\n\n\n\n

My Motherland,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There\u2019s been so many times,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m longing for you, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I wish I could get back there, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Where I grew up as a barefoot kid, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Soaking the bread in the river of tears, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I can\u2019t make it anymore, no longer an orphan,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That there is no place to live in!  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh Motherland,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tell me, do you miss me?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perhaps the greedy\nbastards have <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nothing left for you and\nme and us!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My Motherland,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When you need me, just\ncall me,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am way too young to\nfeel old  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I will always be there\nfor you, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Cause I am tired of\nrunning on the roads, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 And the tears keep rolling down my eyes! <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Written in\nAlbanian by Astrit BLLACA <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Translated into\nEnglish by Raimonda MOISIU <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Atdheu im<\/strong> \u2013poezi\nnga Astrit Bllaca <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

(P\u00ebr gjith\u00eb\nemigrant\u00ebt) <\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Atdhe, u ushqeva me ty kur isha f\u00ebmij\u00eb, pa e ditur,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

kafshat\u00eb m\u00eb kafshat\u00eb symbyllur t\u00eb kap\u00ebrdija,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

dhe dit\u00ebve e net\u00ebve kur s’kisha asgj\u00eb p\u00ebr t\u00eb ngr\u00ebn\u00eb,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

me vrap f\u00ebmij\u00ebnor, n\u00eb prehrin t\u00ebnd un\u00eb vija.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


\nAtdhe, jam rritur tani, jam b\u00ebr\u00eb burr\u00eb,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

e t\u00eb k\u00ebrkoj m\u00eb kot n\u00eb hap\u00ebsir\u00ebn pa fund,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

nuk t\u00eb k\u00ebrkoj si burr\u00eb por prap\u00eb si f\u00ebmija,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

q\u00eb n\u00ebn\u00ebn k\u00ebrkon e port\u00ebn furish\u00ebm e tund.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


\nKu t\u00eb k\u00ebrkoj Atdhe, m\u00eb thuaj, ku t\u00eb t\u00eb gjej,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

s’ka ngelur nga trupi yt asnj\u00eb shenj\u00eb,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

tek tuk gjej ndonj\u00eb kock\u00eb q\u00eb zbardh q\u00eb p\u00ebrtej,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

tek tuk kur k\u00ebrkoj, gjej nga ty ndonj\u00eb rr\u00ebnj\u00eb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

M\u00eb ndoq\u00ebn Atdhe, ata q\u00eb t\u00eb donin p\u00ebr vete,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

m\u00eb ndoq\u00ebn si djalin plangprish\u00ebs i ati, e ndjek nga\nsht\u00ebpia,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

dhe ika Atdhe e mora rrug\u00ebt e bot\u00ebs,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

un\u00eb ika me gjysm\u00ebn e shpirtit q\u00eb prapa e lija.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


\nDhe sa her\u00eb p\u00ebr ty Atdhe, uria m\u00eb merr,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

t\u00eb kthehem dua atje ku u rrita f\u00ebmij\u00eb,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

ta ngjyej kafshat\u00ebn n\u00eb lot\u00ebt q\u00eb rrjedhin si lum\u00eb,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

t’mos endem jetim q\u00eb s’ka\nvend ku t\u00eb rrij\u00eb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

M\u00eb thuaj Atdhe, un\u00eb a t\u00eb\ndhimbsem ndopak?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Apo ata eg\u00ebrsirat asgj\u00eb\ns’kan\u00eb l\u00ebn\u00eb m\u00eb nga ty,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

m\u00eb thirr t\u00eb vij, i ri n\u00eb\njam apo plak,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

u lodha s\u00eb enduri rrug\u00ebve\nme lot\u00ebt n\u00eb sy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Written in\nAlbanian by Astrit BLLACA <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Translated into\nEnglish by Raimonda MOISIU <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

July, 2021<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

– P\u00ebrkthyer  n\u00eb  Anglisht nga Raimonda MOISIU My Motherland! (Dedicated To All Immigrants) Written in Albanian by Astrit BLLACA Translated into English by Raimonda MOISIU My Motherland, I was whispering so loud, In my mother\u2019s tongue, When I was a little kid, In a strange and foreign land! Bite after bite, Even with my eyes closed, Memories…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":9160,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9159","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistakuvendi.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9159","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistakuvendi.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistakuvendi.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistakuvendi.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistakuvendi.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9159"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/revistakuvendi.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9159\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9161,"href":"https:\/\/revistakuvendi.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9159\/revisions\/9161"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistakuvendi.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/9160"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistakuvendi.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9159"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistakuvendi.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9159"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistakuvendi.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9159"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}