When Biblical peace is ruined


There is impossible sometimes to understand the bridge between night and day

Neither between good and bad

Neither between the right and wrong

Sometimes happens that the streets are confused

And it’s the great evolution colors are invisible

This happens because lights are extinguished in the horizon.


All of a Sudden, just like a theater screen is opened a drape

The stage is empty, dry, cold, dark.

Just as a secret life full of mysteries,

And a sad person confessing himself

Without an end neither a beginning


Engulfed in the context of routine

Without freedom, neither with slavery

It happens at time that human has no horizon

And everything is collapsed

Just as a tsunami that takes upfront everything.


It happens sometimes, human has neither height nor depth

It happens to remember that it was nothing, was no where

Was no one…

In a world that is submerged in its eyes without a horizon.

Says: everything existed as a frightening scream


But happens sometimes, humans want to sit on the ground
below the tree of wisdom.

To see how biblical peace was ruined, when Eden was burned.

The girl who loves poetry


She was born in a day when it was not needed,

The city had a bad smell

And birds had fallen in quietness.

The smell of flowers was engulfed by the smell of piss.

Only the noise of airplanes was felt.

Only the noise of airplanes was heard

And whispering of a time’s choir,

Where are found politicians with pockets full of banners.


Within ourselves right on top stays your life

Dreamed every night.

And we, confused, look at her eyes, just as they are depicted on every night.


Those spread memories just as ruined hair

And then we lay many questions,

Questions that lack answers,

Where there are men with cloudy view

And raised hands to the sky begging piety.


Oh God,

In her city, there is much noise.

She loves poetry, but does not read patriotic tales

She drinks black coffee, but with a glass of whisky

She has a dark skirt, but her brain is snow white.


Oh God, what predictions is she listening with open eyes

And the storm’s eyes that see beyond her walls?

Then quietly looks for the end of objects without meeting the road of exit

Just as words are exhausted through the mind of a poet,

She wants to build babel’s tower

In one day when bricks are hitting through her fingers.

 In the city of a cloud


In the city of cloud everything is different.

Thoughts are enclosed just as our deception through statues.

There flowers live a life of bushes,

And within them dance freely only insects

My God,

The city of cloud has its narrow streets,

And its thoughts are narrow

And the song of Halleluiah is not heard.


There is no room for exhaustion

Through exhausted feet is extended

And the word tries in vain to defend the corrupt dignity.


Spiders have set their webs

And rudiments of a mind are turned into a night romance, romance of time.


In the city of cloud the theater’s lights are shut

And shows are made under the pressure of candles that fight with darkness

Poetry is read in the corners of sorrow

Where only dogs with flees walk in quietness.

Where nastiness of politics has ruined everything,

Up to the birds sounds and kisses of loved ones.


In the city of clouds, dust has covered flowers.

And in the middle there is a lake of ignorance

Where freedom and war have no borders,

Where poetry and non-poetry have no borders.


Where there are stolen many pains

That run through the sky and turned into food

For the hungry stomach of politics.

Just as our solitude through vibrating legs

That is disrupted in flooded roads

With men walking endlessly,


With men walking endlessly.

Since then it begun to be miss counted,

Since then it begun to be bent,

Since then it begun to turn into evil

In the city is felt the sky’s lack “City of God.”

A boat on a waive

It’s Saturday and a cold march

The roads are shining from frost, the city is quiet

Sounds are frightening, like mountains scream from lightening.

Cold flowers have the color of a frozen sound,

Nothing is shining, neither aroma, neither sound, neither a word.

We are going to the sea,

Where there is a sole boat and a masked captain.

He leaves behind quietness and departs towards for the coast

To throw himself in the mysteries of turbulent waives.


You are following with imagination its path

When she moves through the stormy waives.


A thunder is heart….


Asking surprised, why did it leave the quietness of the coast?


Looking confused with the eyes covering the color of ice

And reminds the worst tail.

The boat becomes smaller, the waves are growing

And the sky is furious.


It Saturday, cold march

Flowers are freezing just like your memory

Which leaves behind quietness and thrown in the waves of life,

There is an abyss amidst desires and reality

Between you and breathless reality, life, time…

On the earth full of thirst.

In a train station


Crowds of people

Run towards many directions

Some of them have a luggage

Some embody confusion in their eyes

Some waiting for the train

And a few returning to Ithaca like Odysseus


Everyone is found to be in one place

Where they depart to different directions.

However they all have the same purpose

The lives’ walk

O God, the unknown lives’ walk.


You are cleaning the front head and with a sweet voice, asking

Who is the walk?


Odysseus when returning to Ithaca,

Understood that Ithaca was far away from his dreams

Everything had changed, except his memories.

Ithaca did not remember his heroism

She was not Ithaca of Odysseus’ dreams.

(Translated from Albanian by Peter Tase)


About the Poet

Ndue Ukaj (1977) is an Albanian writer, publicist and literary critic.

His poems has been included in several anthologies of poetry, in Albanian, and other languages. He has published several books, including “Godo is not coming”, which won the national award for best book of poetry published in 2010 in Kosovo. He has also won the award for best poems in the International Poetry Festival in Macedonia and another prize. His poems and texts are translated into English, Spanish, Italian, Romanian, Finnish, Swedish, Turkish and Chinese. Ukaj is member of Swedish PEN.


About the Translator

Peter M. Tase is an author, international relations expert and journalist. In the last eleven years has translated over 18 books of poetry from Albanian authors into English and Spanish Languages (all of these volumes are published in the United States; two books on Corporate Social Responsibility from Spanish into English Language authored by Jorge Emilio Sierra Montoya and published over four hundred articles on the current affairs of Latin American Studies and cultural history of the Republic of Azerbaijan.  Peter Tase has authored five books on Azerbaijani Studies and Foreign Policy, published in the United States of America.