PRISHTINA IS DEAD

This is not my town
I don’t know it anymore
This is not my town
It doesn’t know me

Reviewing memories,
I think I am dreaming
They killed my childhood
They killed me

Monsters pop up
Plastic stars of no worth
Smile for the camera
Hiding under make up
Hiding in expensive cars

Corruption is a new brand
Hand in hand with Versace, Armani
Dying to become citizens
They crushed what city is all about

Everybody wants to have an opinion
Two grains of brain are not sufficient
Learn your language before speaking English
Cause foreigners will never identify with you

This is not my town
I don’t know it anymore
This is not my town
It doesn’t know me…


(Death to Hotel Union means death to Prishtina)

SURVIVING THE BEAST WITHIN

Glass,
Cold on my hand
As I swallow slowly
The drink and pain blend

Muted images, moving all over me
Making me weightless, making me dizzy
Why am I here again, knowing I don’t belong?
I keep on letting myself go, never firm, never strong

Ah, I am already crowded, no room for more
The last stop before home, my “temple” the store

The glass and my face on it
I hate what I see
If I could only drown in it
Floating like a bee

Blurred, foggy faces,
Distorted through the smoke
Acting out of their misery
Embittered by the joke

As the last spice on a failed soup
I join in with despair,
Always up for yet another scoop
Once left alone, already a pair

Ah, I am already crowded, no room for more
The last stop before home, my “temple” the store

October 5, 2008

NUMBNESS

Her footsteps swiftly touch in the cold
As her hair goes gray and face turns old
Soft whispers behind her deafened ear
Trying in vain to tell her dear
She disappears in the foggy night
Before the morning stretches bright
The little lady on the stake
Of gloomy flakes by the cold lakes
The winds blew swiftly caressing her neck
She sank into numbness without a track
As nightingales sang her farewell song
She fought for the just and ended it wrong
O skies and earth join together in tears
For the one who missed her many years
O cold waters refuse to swallow her youth
She gave in too soon betrayed by the truth!

September 23-24, 2008

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake

The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
By Robert Frost