Literary Editor

Four poems by Manisha Koirala

Manisha Koirala is a poet and freelancer from Nepal. She was born in Dhading. She is a member of "Words Highway Nepal" which aims in promoting English literature (poems) in Nepal. She also participates in various other literary programs and writes poems, articles as a freelancer. She loves to read novel, drama, fiction stories too.



I will let go.

With the breezing air,
that passes by these shore,
with the rainfall,
I"ll let go the things
that no matter to me.
thousands of possibility of solutions,
I thought, once I saw,
that really now, does not matter to thy
Harder I tried to fill,
but the deeper it got,
To move, too late the till
I am hopeless not
so I will go.



Sometimes the times thrives
and sometimes the evil shades
you won't know when the colour fades.
but you know , time changes
and that won't be so far, if you wait.
are you feeling weak?
go to the garden and a colour you choose,
bring it home and plant.
let that flower blossom on you
hope the better and obviously new
do not let the time to stale
for, those flowers
are happiness and the grace…



How Summer ends , winter ends
O river take me or teach me
How to flow
Eternally and deeply?

How the spring goes , autumn goes?
I make a move to forth,
But Thy find laid in the maze, always,
Where I can't find a place to go..
O river you know where to go , teach me ?
The left and only place but I know to move is a beautiful asylum
Where I may be served daily with sweet and relieving Lithium..


Into the Heaven

When I closed my eyes,
a thousand images appeared in front of me ,
one by one .
With an Idle heart,
I cheered upon them
and they bid a hello to me.
As I moved they welcomed with the brightest smile,
what a pleasure in this burning heart,
body this melted
that could have rut.
in those smiles of silence ,
I found the heaven.

When I closed my eyes,
I saw, how they gave their earnings,
As I laughed at my possessions
but, what a pleasure to have nothing,
In that emptiness,
I found the heaven.

As I moved deeper, deeper in my thoughts,
restlessly, to the divines of soul
What a pleasure this journey,
that led me to the eternal path
and I found the heaven..

Shaip Emërllahu was born in 1962 in the village of Trebosh near Tetova, Macedonia. He completed his Philological Degree of Albanian Language and Literature at Prishtina University in Kosovo. He got his Master's degree at Tirana University with a paper about "The Structure of the Poetry of Azem Shkreli". He got his PhD in Literature in Tirana. He is a lecturer at the State University of Tetova. Director of the International Poetry Festival “Ditet e Naimit”, Tetova, he has worked as a journalist and culture editor for the newspaper “Flaka”.

Emërllahu has participated in international and national poetry festivals in Columbia, Ireland, Italia, Greece, Tunisia, Poland, Croatia, Romania, Bulgaria, Turkey... He has been awarded with many national and international literary prizes.

He has published the poetry volumes “Pagëzimi i viteve” (Baptism of the Years) in the publishing house “Naim Frashëri”, Tirana, 1994, “Projekti i thyer” (Broken Project), Albanian Writers’ Association, Skopje, 1997, “Vdekja e paktë” (Little Death) in the edition “Flaka”, Skopje, 2001, "Troja e Kalit" (Troy of the horse) in the edition "Ditët e Naimit", Tetova, 2018. In 2001, “Akademia Orient – Oksident” in Bucharest, published in Albanian and Romanian his poetry book “Vdekja e paktë – Putina moarte”. In 2000, he published as a co-author the book about testimonies of the massacres in Kosovo “…edhe ne dëshmojnë / We witness”, publishing house “Ditet e Naimit” (in Albanian and English). In 2004, the Croatian PEN and the Croatian Writers’ Association published his bilingual Croatian-Albanian book with the title "Poezi". In 2004, the publishing house “Feniks” in Skopje published his book with selected poems “Dvorski son”. In 2010, the publishing house ”La stanza del poeta” in Gaeta (in italien) his book “Stracci di vita” and the publishing house “Ditet e Naimit” (in English) his poetry book “Life’s rags’. In 2014, his poetry book "Le marathon albanais" is published in French. In Japan, "Junpa Books" publishes his poetry with the title "Duet of Roads" (poetic dialogue with T. Aizu). This year his poetry book "Life's Rags" is published in Taiwan. Cycles of his poetry are also published in Spanish, Hebrew, Swedish, Bulgarian, Arabic, Romanian, Ukrainian, Hindi, Turkish, Polish, Bosnian, Croatian, Macedonian etc. His poetry has been included in several international anthologies.





anyway you came back overwhelmed

it couldn’t be otherwise

without offending the feelings that swelled in that sun of eyes

and the desire of the soul broke the tambour of the infinite freedom

you dream was tango

tango to give yourself to the free desire

there was no guard that could annoy you

with vigilant eyes to kill you

the space of the possibility was all yours

big as Madrid

when the game is being played and the dirty sweat is poured

freedom is like sun

when what touches you is the sky, the sky, the sky...

and you greet the God

and you thank for Madrid

you asking Him to bring you back

home and then to Madrid again

when the toreador game is being played in Skopje

and you can’t wear the red dress

the bulls are ready to hit here

and who knows even bucks,

you think of where to let the meat

and where the soul


I expect my coffee in the “Galaxy”

and listen to the peace that has taken your form


you brought Madrid

between us

here at the Scanderbeg at Bit Bazar


God is one

Life is one






In that gulf as a woman’s breast

In Gaeta

to Diti I recount, the Ventotene

of the Albanian imprisoned thought


the soul reflected warmth

wave of hot fervor

talked in front of me


the sea was drunk

it was a temblor

white horses full of people to attend my wedding day came by the waves

I was woken up as a groom, I had a bride in a horse


a drunk wedding song played with clarinet

wiggles over south


my bride was arbëresh1

Diti was a silhouette

that was lying on your chest

as a gulf in Gaeta







a sight was nailed

in that moment the meteor

was in Gaeta

a solemn massage

the ardent dilemma was painted

in its own opening

it took the pain away

when the navel of its way was cut

it didn’t wanted

even its shadow to touch the traveler

may the fountain

never remain thirsty






The geography of the Troy running horse

expands with bitten knifes


you break out

and your little mind doesn’t understand

how we bite the fish bait

when the shadows surround our bodies

with the Troy of the horse through and through

the foam of its mouth


fills our tables


nobody ruins their day, their fun


what remains from Troy

despite of the horse

with the whinny’s fraud


13 january 2011



1 Arbëresh are Albanian that during medieval wars with Turks migrated in Italy and speak to this day Albanian.

Jüri Talvet: Poet, essayist, literary critic, translator, university professorTalvet  was born on December 17, 1945 in Pärnu, Estonia. He graduated from the faculty of philology (specializing in English) from the University of Tartu. He received his PhD degree in Western literatures from Leningrad / Saint Petersburg University (1981).  Since 1992 he is Chairing Professor (of World Literature) at Tartu University and has been since 1996 the main editor of Interlitteraria, international journal of comparative literature.

         He made his debut with a book of poems, Äratused (Awakenings; Tallinn: Eesti Raamat, 1981). By today, he has published nine books of poetry in his native Estonian. In 2014 a voluminous personal anthology of his poetry appeared, comprising more than 500 poems: Eesti eleegia ja teisi luuletusi 1981-2012 (Estonian Elegy and Other poems 1981-2012, Tartu: Ilmamaa).

He has published dozens of essays and articles on world literature, which beside journals have appeared in: Teekond Hispaaniasse (A Travel to Spain; Tallinn, 1985), Hispaaniast Ameerikasse (From Spain to America; Tallinn, 1992), Hispaania vaim (The Spanish Spirit; Tartu, 1995), Ameerika märkmed ehk Kaemusi Eestist (American Notes, or Contemplations of Estonia; Tartu, 2000),  Sümbiootiline kultuur (Symbiotic Culture; Tartu, 2005), Tõrjumatu äär (The Irrefutable Border; Tartu, 2005), Juhan Liivi luule. Monograafia (Juhan Liiv's Poetry. A Monograph; Tallinn, 2012), Kümme kirja Montaigne'ile. "Ise" ja "teine" (Ten Letters to Montaigne. "Self" and "Other"; Tartu, 2014), Luulest (Of Poetry; Tartu, 2015) etc.

         He has been awarded for his work Juhan  Smuul Annual Prize of Literature (in essay, 1986), Juhan Liiv Poetry Prize (1997), Ivar Ivask Memorial Prize (2002), the Order of Isabel the Catholic (for his activity in Spanish studies, 1992), the White Star Order of Estonian Republic (2001), The Medal of Tartu (2008), the Order of the County of Alatskivi (2015), the Grand Medal of the University of Tartu, 2015,   the F. R. Kreutzwald Memorial Medal of the Võru Institute (2016) etc. In 2011 he became an Active Member of Academia Internationala Orient-Occident (Romania). Since 2016 he is member of Academia Europaea and Honorary Guest (Huésped Distinguido) of Salamanca (Spain).

         Since 2006, he has been an invited participant of important international poetry festivals all over the world.

Besides numerous translations published in magazines and anthologies, book-length selections of his poetry have appeared in Spanish (2002, 2010), English (2008, 2010), Italian (2012, 2018), Romanian (2011), French (2011, 2016), Russian (2018) and Serbian (2018).

         Of his essay books, the following have appeared abroad: A Call for Cultural Symbiosis (Toronto, 2005), Un enfoque simbiótico de la cultura posmoderna (Granada, 2009), Una crida a la simbiosi cultural (Valencia, 2009),  Meditazioni da U. Per una simbiosi culturale, (Novi Liguri, 2015).

More data is available at: ;





To the memory of dear Richard Caddel, friend and poet,

with the wish that he could return tomorrow at ten.                  

Did the rabbit taste good? Fine.
The salmon? Well. The world’s
pulse under your eyelids is indeed
a fine image. (At least you can
feign sleep.) The noble union
of physics with poetry: It’s fine
that one can at least relax
into the groove of a bar stool in a
warm small town in Georgia. (If
there’s room.) In both Delhis, however,
when it grows dark, only thinking
of gods in a temple, with a cool stone
in the knees, redeems one from the jungle.
Did what’s on the grill taste good? I’m glad. I
am happy. How was the chicken? I weave
a spider web for some stranger to get
caught in. Some other from far away,
on the edge. Some Indian cow,
covered with Hegel’s grey, boiled
spider web. (Thank you, Heinrich!)
You say you really won’t go? You
shall go tomorrow morning at ten.
And you will return tomorrow
morning at ten. Won’t you?





This dancing Santa on 42nd Street

maybe in front of Mazzotti’s shoe shop and

Maria means business on a Hudson riverbank

Maria Bartiramo to whom have you sold

your soul? – answer! And

a living Santa who wound you up

to foot a Greek or Catalan sardana

and to mutter occasionally into your beard

something about the special shine of Mazzotti’s shoes

Maria d’Aquino the whiteness of your knees

escapes for ever from the eyes of Giovanni

He is just an old man even without

his Santa’s beard and bushy eyebrows

or maybe it’s you Walt who looked on Broadway

for the thick necks of big young white men

and when you couldn’t find them any more

then the warm eyes of small Puerto Ricans

and when you couldn’t find them either you sat down

in your own yard under a lilac and wept

and mumbled like Francesco pace

pace pace and T. S. later and the ancient bards

long time before them and before you

šānti šānti šānti peace to my heart peace

to your heart too Maria Macolata





It’s funny today Anne Sexton a representative

of Microsoft sent me by e-mail

a purchase offer As if her namesake

whose poems I translate had been resurrected

You Anne who in The Fury of Overshoes

long for your tiny kindergarten winter boots

and Man and Woman whom you compare

to a pair of doves who live together but

don’t speak That precipice between

the genders that you couldn’t leap

even though you said you were a witch who knew

to fly on a broomstick Now in your second or in

who knows what life you are simply a woman

a tame mute mistress of a man named Microsoft


(Translated from the Estonian by H. L. Hix and the author)


Poems by Caterina Davinio

Caterina Davinio (b. Maria Caterina Invidia, Italy, 1957) Graduated in Italian Literature at the University I of Rome “Sapienza”. She has published four novels, several award-winning books of poems, and non-fiction. She writes in Italian and English. She has edited some multilingual anthologies of international poets. Her poetry has been presented in international literary festivals, such as The International Poetry Festival of Medellín (Colombia), Oslopoesi (Norway), The International Poetry Festival Poetry Nights (Curtea de Argeș, Romania), VeneziaPoesia (Italy), E-Poetry (Buffalo, New York, and Barcelona, Spain), Polyphonix (Barcelona, and Paris), International Writer's Festival - Indore (India), and others. She has been one of the pioneers of digital poetry in the 90s, with hundreds of exhibitions in many countries, among them are several editions of the Venice Biennial, where she has collaborated also as a curator, the Biennials of Sydney, of Athens and the New Media Art Biennial of Mèrida (Mexico).




From: Serial Phenomenologies



and so it was going,

a little wind of senseless joy and of

heartfelt future past.


But finally our

creature of air was


Our perfect happiness was


And I said (it was for not saying)

I hoped.

And I viewed it livid at last

like the end of the world

like the forgiveness of all sins

and the tremendous certainty of being cowards.



like a

rosary I pronounce you, long prayer

I recite death

in the crystal clear soul

like a cold diamond

that sings,

lark voice, girl shout.


From: Waiting for the End of the World



Destiny was superb

it spoke among mountains and gray cumuli

like castles in the sky,

swollen with heat,

with rain,

with harvests,

with infinite richness.

The valley and flourishing hills with hope

gave me life in the continuous death.

There were titillating notes of nostalgias and rivers,

we learned the past and the future

the night and its awakenings,

we were possessed

like Rimbaud in Hell.

We ask for mercy and gratitude.



Give me your expert hand of brother

and reverent knight,

render to me the services of occurrence,

Hell sweeps across the sky

and I am not afraid

of your tyrannies:

I am a hero too

as the clouds dull the air

and jeer the desert from above,

they are signs from above

disquieting the trembling earth

and extending below the horizon,

like a flattened land stuck in the vastness

for further incursions,

frowning triumphs, masks, abuses;

extinguish me, oh my fire,

I am your chosen one

the perfect sphere,

the unknown,

the crazy horse at full gallop,

the destiny, the wild beast.

- তারিক সামিন


পৃথিবীর পথে পথে যত বেশি হাটি

উদ্দীপ্ত হই তত বেশি,

কত গ্রাম, কত শহর

কত ইতিহাস, কত ঐতিহ্য

বয়ে চলে পাশাপাশি।


যেমনি দেখেছি হিংসা-বিদ্বেষ

তেমনি দেখেছি ভালোবাসা

কিছু ভালোলাগার অনুভূতি

সদা জাগরূক হয়ে থাকে।


২৫ শে ডিসেম্বর বড়দিন;

কোলকাতার রাস্তায়

মানুষের ঢল

আনন্দ উৎসবে সাজ সাজ রব

সবার চোখে মুখে হাসি,

গির্জা গুলোতে মানুষের ভিড়

সম্ভবত খ্রিস্টান এক শতাংশও

হবে না সেখানে।

তবুও হিন্দু-মুসলিম-বৌদ্ধ শিখ-সাঁওতাল-জৈন

সবাই এসেছে

মৈত্রীর বন্ধনে।


তেমনি দুর্গা পূজাতে

রাস্তা ঘাটে

কত আমেরিকান, ইউরোপীয়, সাদা-কালো মানুষ

পৃথিবীর দুর-দুরান্ত হতে ছুটে চলে আসে

প্রাণের উৎসবে অংশ নিতে ।


ঈদ এলে হিন্দু-মুসলিম সবাই


হাসি মুখে

আপ্যায়িত করে।


এসো এমনি ভাবে পৃথিবীর

সব জনপদে

প্রতিদিন আনন্দ উৎসবে

সবাই মিলেমিশে

এক হয়ে মানবতার

জয় গান গাই।

এসো ঘৃণার বদলে ভালোবাসা জানাই।


Four poems of Rozafa Shpuza

Rozafa Shpuza was born in Shkodra, Albania. After completing High School, she enrolls at University of Literature and successfully graduates in 1990 with a degree in Languages and Literature. She works as a school teacher. Presently, she is editor of parliamentary publications at the Parliament of Albania in Tirana.

In 2011, she publishes her first book in prose entitled “Time of Icons”, followed by “Anipse”, a book with poetry in Geg dialect of Albanian language. In 2016, she publishes her latest literary work named “Grizhlat”.

She practices photography as one of her many hobbies. Rozafa participates in various photography contests in Albania and abroad. In 2015, she opens her first exhibition with photographs from her own collection in Shkodra and Durres.

Rozafa’s literary work and photographs can be found on her blog at



Soaring with seagulls


Soaring with seagulls

I linger’d on the verge

of a kiss

eyes afloat

a frosty, guileful


the beaming wait

lured me in

lusting me out

of canopy shades,

a cilium-light



On tremor’d edge

I held my breath,

as vibrant

quaking blues

snuggled me off

soaring with seagulls.



(Ode to) The old home


Our home had no keys

and days floated smoothly across one room, then the next


my grandmother’s sotto voce refrain

stroking her knots on a nylon thread, like impromptu prayer beads...

Frayed rugs resembled a blind predicament

of doom foretold,

and my whole voyage was a chess game

without winners.

The old home lingers no more

an epilogue of legends featuring dragons

and I feel the days reappear through keyholes

that were never used,

just like constant transitions in my camera zoom...



Back home


By the old house

my backyard awaits

wrapped in high walls,


in unseasoned ivy

snowed upon by hydrangeas

like doll brides shying away.

The shutters,

taut of dull rain,

spread their wings

grimy by gray winds.


grouchy of faded steps,

cradle weak frames

under the smooth weight

of long lost touch,

while broken dreams

throb across cracked walls,

in tearful longing...



Shell of the sea


Hidden in my pocket was a seashell

of which shore, I know not...

I found it as summer folded away

along with few clinging grains of sand

and three coins chiming like nymphs of lonely harbor...

The streaks on her back carved by salty mea culpas

snug in eternal embrace of a love mirage

set adrift for a hundred years across the seas.

I spread her crusty wings gently on my palm

and keep faith that the streaks of fate

will guide my destiny on a path made of dreams...


(translated by:bora shpuza)

Page 7 of 19

লেখা পাঠাবার নিয়ম

মৌলিক লেখা হতে হবে।

নির্ভুল বানান ও ইউনিকোড বাংলায় টাইপকৃত হতে হবে।

অনুবাদ এর ক্ষেত্রে মুল লেখকের নাম ও সংক্ষিপ্ত লেখক পরিচিতি দিতে হবে।

আরো দিতে পারেন

লেখকের ছবি।

সংক্ষিপ্ত লেখক পরিচিতি।

বিষয় বস্তুর সাথে সামঞ্জস্যপূর্ণ অঙ্কন চিত্র বা ছবি। 

সম্পাদক | Editor

তারিক সামিন

Tareq Samin

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লেখা পাঠাবার জন্য


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