Fahredin Shehu was born in Rahovec, south east Kosova, in 1972. A graduate in Oriental Studies at Prishtina University, in the last thirty years he has worked as an independent scientific researcher in the fields of World Spiritual Heritage and Sacral Aesthetics .His writings have been translated into over 30 langauges, to name a few: Arabic, Bahasa. Bengali, Bosnian, Bulgarian, Chinese, Croatian, English, French, Frisian, German, Greek, Hebrew, Italian, Macedonian, Maltese, Mongolian, Polish, Roma, Romanian, Serbian, Sicilian, Spanish, Swedish, and Turkish etc He has authored 20 books, including poetry, essays and novels, has published widely as a reviewer, and has edited many books and anthologies, including, for example, World Healing World Peace (Inner Child Press, USA, 2014), an anthology in two volumes. He is Director of the Balkan Literature section of the Kosovo PEN Centre and a founder-member of the South European Literature Association (Sofia, Bulgaria). His distinctions include: the Naaji Naaman Prize for Poetry (Beirut, Lebanon, 2016); a nomination for the Pulitzer Prize (2017); and Doctor Honoris Causa (Universum Academy, Lugano, ). He is also Director of the International ‘Poetry and Wine’ Poetry Festival (Rahovec, Kosovo); and Founder of the Kosovo Fund for Cultural Education and Heritage.
Cazimi
…that very day I was purified by the Sun,
the Sun of your love and its scalar dispersion.
I revealed fresh truths like needles,
hot and aflame, piercing my left ear.
I bear not the earrings, yet I bear witness to the celestial downpour of insights none can erase. Your
bare naked feet press and seal my heart, and I feel not the burden,
for life weighs heavy and love is shadeless.
For I weigh the velocity of my observation, and it tells me Love
over and over again.
Fohat
They say we were one,
we continue to be…
we shall become one again
…and they gave it the name
Fohat — a muslin of Existence
where life happens unceasingly
within a space where even
Nowhereness exists.
And when you turn your head toward life,
the state and the level change;
into an “Ah” they transform,
into a breath that gives
vibration to the trans-temporal entities;
they disperse another life,
and morality does not exist as
a manifestation of human absurdity.
From here again a gentle breeze blows,
taking with it the fragrant voices
of flowers and the mildew
of wet haystacks at the edge
of the meadows, among which one rarely
walks barefoot for grounding,
for resurrection and awakening from
the soles up to the ten fingers above the head.
Gazing
This is the day of gazing deep.
I ponder upon the very core and
see the assembled Toponiums of your being in a lump of an atom as big as the Universe.
The fragrance enveloped you;
layers upon layers seem huge—a vastness of “Is-ness,”
leaving a seal deep like a dried ocean bed.
All those engulfing sounds—
oscillations of particles forming pictures of a new life,
and all psithurism bringing the smell of decayed twigs announcing a rebirth.
The bliss is shown as a pause
of the world in turmoil,
the love that merges in between.
Nefandous
With my DNA, I emit the scalar waves throughout the vastness of the universe.
With my ambidextrous aptitude, I embrace the whole in its entirety.
With my lungs, I breathe love, and I rest in there, for there’s no escapade.
With my heart, I transmute hatred and share swirls of purple fog akin to sentient material sculpting reality.
I do know, and the knowing is a liberation.
I do feel, and the feeling is the source of the divine.
I do love, and yet love still has no explanation for aeons to come.
It shall remain nefandous.
Lab and Temple
I have squeezed the mistletoe berries
with its saliva-like juice; aloe and honey, I made a paste like an inviscid fluid
to mend the broken hearts and broken bones in this lofty world.
I saw the sparks from sound-wave sonoluminescence.
I saw you there—
my breath,
my light,
my love—
while I stood amidst
Lab and Temple,
meticulous and devout,
to feel the presence
in the talismanic Temple of Greatness.
I am what I am,
but not Moses.
I am what I am,
but not Rafael.
I am what I am,
but not a prophet.
I am what I am,
a mere soul in love.
Amid the drool of the white mostletoe
…from the visible world to the realm of suspended forms, myriad human lives teem, hands of days and entities clad in radiant garments storming oblivion, ascents to the nadir of sight and descents into the abyss of the surface, flaming veils of particles that parch the skin of babies, turning them to scales.
Rays pierce through the veins of green leaves, a scent of Petrichor mingled with the breath of flowers and the drool of the white mistletoe. We, too, who forgot we were once tender, in a crystal vial holding divine breath, ripened like the mulberry fruit that falls of its own accord when it reaches that taste which quenches thirst and heals.
I laugh my worries away
on the day when a particle turned wave.
It is everyday’s stream of bliss
that keeps my liquidity.
I laugh my worries away
in love I dwell—navigating
through currents of Is-ness
that conveys my soul amidst
unnamed yet canyons of emotion.
Stories I shall tell afterwards will be others’ dreams,
hopes of those who want to be Man,
desires that twist in a rope of
endless nuances going to transparency.
Today I turn ripe—saturated with grace and all sorts of temptation,
as the second part of life
narrates my own destiny,
and it blasts Love,
and it blasts freedom.
