Poems by Arjan Kallco

Pic by Steve Johnson




Universal peace

The sea lies wide
undisturbed in its own defined space
without daring to take the smallest step
as a visitor to the shore. Today
he doesn’t want to be a tourist on earth,
he also needs to rest,
in a auspicious somnolence of July.
It seems like a wise old man
Trying someday to get out of the ritual anxiety
of life as the years are passing, therefore
rushes himself to quench that age momentum.
The sea can not foresee any forthcoming storms
In the hot summer days,
Even people don’t think about confrontations.
It is the time of universal peace
While the world will continue
to go around.


From one Ithaca to another

That strip of native land on which
I took my last steps
to board “The Shuttle” ship,
was left behind
and foggily was disappearing into the sea.
The white waves were foaming
Angry with the separation.
Who is that person who does not shed a tear,
when losing something beloved?
Ulysses once took the long roads of despair in the seas,
sailed in every land, but never
did forget the place he was born
The ancient homeland that made him a king.
My Ithaca looked calm, but sad her soul
by the endless farewells.
Don’t ask me how many Ithacas I have
In my heart,
I don’t know, never counted them.
Every place that awaits for me is an Ithaca,
The same as others I haven’t visited yet.
Memory can never find peace,
Memories like Sisyphus are on the move and eternal
and when the present takes its own place
at the end of the line,
it turns its head back as being chased by shadows.
The blue sea in between the two shores
wakes me up from my dream and tells me:
don’t turn your head back in remorse,
the cradle you grew up will always be there, now
look straight ahead, another Ithaca
is awaiting me.


The philosophy of the day

Even when the idle time
will spend the hot days
of this unfaithful May
in the monotony of mundane evenings,
the law will not change.
People will wake up in the morning
with the desire to live another new day
of this bionic century;
will vigorously come out of the houses
after a restless sleep under the rain
a boring conqueror;
will meet quickly just to say
hello, or greet each other over the phone,
and then will throw themselves into the river
of collapses of progress.
The evening will be back again
and the meetings will breathe freely
until late at night.
Some broken hearts will beat harder
awaiting for the good sense of humor after
the separation.
Right time to philosophize.


The train

The train, the iron monster
That ruthlessly wiped off the Leopardi’s dream,
Broke frantically towards North.
Vigorously devouring the kilometres
on the wet road
These first days of the new year.
The carriages running in space
Sometimes even through the grey blinding
fog of the day.
Behind remain and begin to grow
The kilometres left alone after the abandonment.
I’m myself running with it,
among the temporary passengers
Hoping to come back or stop the time.
Trains are not spaceships that fly high
out of gravity.
There the passengers are foreigners
among them.


The same café

I’m back again to have a coffee
in this simple bar
Without any glittering luxury
Where once during the hot summer days
We’re quenching the thirst.
I came to have a drink
With my old friends
The good, the wise, the grizzled men.
The years slowly are putting the meetings off,
There is no hurry to say good bye.
Silently, one by one with one way ticket
the eternal journey they have taken.
Nothing is left here,
Only nostalgia and the sweet memory
of endless toasts.


One life travelling

Travelling and travelling
You tireless voyager
In between roads and seas.
How immense this world of ours
Where every corner hope to feel
the sweet touch of the poet.
Ferry, like a deafening cry
Sails through the sleepy Greek islands.
Haughtily insists on his progress.
I also became an irresistible voyager!
What could I do?
An everlasting dream since my childhood I had
To fly high up in the sky.
There is nothing that keeps me tied up
to a place ,
Only the next trip to the places
I want to conquer,
My undisputed healer.


About the Author

Arjan Kallco was born in Korça, on November 22, 1967. He graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree in Italian Language from  the University of Tirana in 1990. He has been a teacher of Italian Language in various High Schools in Korça and a Professor in Fan Noli University. He is a member of the Association of Literary Critics in Italy, and since 2008 has been a frequent participant in many international literary conferences in Albania and abroad.