The call

 You, a frozen doll, are letting the water droplets kill you slowly. Do

you hear children's voices in the dark? They're the sound of your

childhood ardor, crying for your faded dreams. You live a delusion

of being judged, instead of joining the quadrille.

 Who do you smell in your body and who do you see in the mirror?

You are the creature of your own thoughts. Dark or light, they

make a picture of your own.

 Silence - do you need its presence? It's under the shade of your

eyelids. Find it and explore your obscure character.

  How much do you know of the volcano inside your soul? Dig it before

you eternally freeze.

  Me? I am the word that sparkles inside your foggy room. Use me,

speak through me, light the hollow chamber you have become.

R.N.

Nje lule begonje

Photo credit: Kristine Culaj

 Ajo, e vogel akoma me shtat, vraponte me eren si nje gjethe e lire. Cicerrimat e saj qe shkriheshin bashke me bubullimat e ujevares, thurrnin thirrjet e saja te para per lumturi. Ajo, qe nuk kishte njohur gjirin e se emes, a thua e njifte lumturine?
 Vazhdonte te vraponte, megjithese kembet i kryqezoheshin si te nje dreri te sapolindur.
 E vogel akoma per te ngritur zerin, te fliste embel me syte e ndritur nga dashuria. Ajo, qe si nje lule begonje rritet me aq pak dielle, a thua e njef dashurine?
 Ashtu si vet jeta, vraponte pa pyetur kohe e pa pyetur njeri. Ne mes lugjesh e mbi balte kerkonte krahet e nje Zane.
 Ajo, e vogel akoma per nje tjeter jete, gjeti rrudhat e thinjat ne vend te nje pellembe qe do ta rris.

R.N.

Confession

 I am a victim of tenderness, therefore I drown in a confectionery pool. You can fool me with your comfits, until the bitter core shows me the truth. If you leave a bad taste on my mouth, disappointment will be your only gift living in my house.

  My silence does not reflect emptiness, nor does it stay for approval. The missing words might be dancing in my head and getting in shape. Thin arrows always shoot sharper points. You choose to smile or to laugh. It's your choice, your reflection.

  Confusion, fear and doubt name my favorite games. I love walking on a rope not knowing how much it can handle. If I win, I enjoy the altitude. If I lose, I enjoy falling. If I step back, I'm not giving up. I'm waiting for your involvement in the game.

   I am a naive vampire and your sweetness is  the blood I crave. Feed me and I'll melt on your heart. Contour my smile. You can choose to fool me or show me the truth. It's your choice, your reflection.

R.N.

Changing the pigment of life

 

www.anonimdiary.com

  Her skin pale as the stars' dust and her hair black as the night's sky tell much of her name, Stella. She's not the girl you'd meet on your way to work or at a local pub. The air she feeds her soul comes mostly out of those hidden neighborhoods that a few people know about, but they hide a treasure to be amazed off! She's been painting her life in all the possible colors, and when the color red was dominating, something knocked the brushes on the ground. Stella's story begins here.
 It was just a gust of a normal autumn morning, but she was staring at those half dried roses for a few minutes now. She felt like one of them, with a few petals holding her beauty, the other petals blown away on another continent, and some thorns paying off her regrets. The garden fences were her limits. Behind those she couldn't walk or run, she couldn't fly. There was only one chance to survive, the one she refused to accept all this time. It was about changing the source of her red pigment. But, that meant on changing the shades of her life or changing the petals that made her a rose. It meant on feeling the agony of those thorns inside her body and becoming a new flower. That was the price she had to pay for lacking the sunlight that flourished her. The price she'd chose not to pay, but a withered rose is not the kind of rose she can be.

R.N.

The painting brush of life

www.anonimdiary.com

 "No rain can wash the act of evilness, when rain doesn't touch your skin."
 Under the roof of punishment and behind the bars of compunction, Sam's body attempted to stand up. No move had a goal and no work held hope. His soul became homeless when his finger shot for death millions of seconds filled with joy or sadness of another man. He breathed in for the only reason to breath out. What was about to happen after that, was all a mystery.

 Recalling the time when light translated brighter colors, Sam was just another ordinary person. He had a job, a wife and two kids. This was supposed to be the perfect life he ever asked for. Or, maybe not!
 In the middle of this fake cycle of perfectness, there was a vacuum which killed him day by day. The so called "breath taking vacuum" seemed to be very essential for his life.
 Every tick-tack that used to pass, was supposed to make him wiser, but he still couldn't define what was this essential thing missing to his soul. Each day he was a witness of his kids growing up, his wife's hair going grey or his own words getting lost.
 On a grim morning, his grim thoughts were empowered on a negative level, as he had lost the valuation of life. This was the most dangerous lost a man could ever go through, as it could multiply into a much bigger lost. He expressed his doubts, his unanswered questions and his missing parts with a bullet moving through a tube, flying in the air and opening a wound inside the head of another man.
 An eternal wound.
 A disaster.

 A box of 9 square meters was really small to fit both, his body and his regretness. Sam was no more Sam. He was no more even a man. He was a moving machine, waiting for the batteries to die, and throwing himself away. He had nothing to get and nothing to give. And that was his problem, his toxin that contaminated even innocent people. The "killing vacuum" wasn't something he should have waited to get. It was the things he never gave, the soul he never put on things. The soul! This is the painting brush of life. He missed that. He missed the point of life.
 Contrary, he killed lives.

R.N.

~

Exposed to love

©pic: Rona Nushi, Model: Marigona Nila 

 Two days and a breakfast long was our vacation this time. On the way back it felt like those green fields full of life were moving and our car was frozen on a spot. I swear I saw the first rain drops and the way they hit the ground raising up dust reminded me of you. Seeing your face for the first time felt just the same. You were like a needful freshness on a summer swelter, but now you've already covered the whole sun. The fear of losing you maybe has poisoned our love. But, your doubt of eternal love has poisoned it more, don't dispute it. Sincerely, I used to put my feet on yours and trusted your guide blindfolded. We've passed through deserts together and then enjoyed the oasis, foolish as we were.
 It was when you failed on holding me close when we lost our way. But, happily I would choose to say: "I found my way." I never used to know how dusk my days were until I saw the true bright. It used to feel like heaven on your chest, until I walked myself to heaven. I'm still keeping it humble and I know there's a long way till the end of the road, but you know my purpose is not the end. I'm making sure to enjoy the ride that I'm starting myself and the sun is incredibly shining on me. Maybe it always did, but your shadow was on my way.
 As things are getting much better for both of us, I thank you for taking me through good and bad. Although back then I couldn't define one from the other, now I've gained my own skills to measure them.
 But, now I feel the need to remind you that love is not there to be used. It's there to be caught, like you caught a cold, remember? Love is there to get drowned on it and then to learn how to swim. It's there to give a tumor to your feelings and make them grow and grow and grow. It's there for me, you and everyone who dares to get exposed to love. So, there's no better way to close my confession than wishing you to catch love. True love. Incurable love.

R.N.

The (sub)conscious on a monologue

-Stare!
-In a lost spot or in a target?
-No. Just stare in the air, feel like you're walking the labyrinth of your soul and tell me what you see.
-I see a big mess, an ocean and a stone. How do I know where to walk?
-You don't walk. You fly. Your brain walks. Use your heart if you want to fly. Now tell me again what you see.
-I'm trying to fly. The wind - should I go against it?
-Go, if it makes you feel better!
-It does. My wings fly higher now. I don't see the mess anymore and the ocean - it's all around me. Can I try to jump?
-Do it! Really hard.
-The mess - it's back again. I'm feeling fatigue.
-That's good. Stay there as long as you can. When you can't handle it anymore, jump out and fly again.
-I really doubt I can fly again. But I'll try.
-Do it and tell me how you feel.
-The sky turned much prettier now. Did anything change or my eyes just see better? And I feel released, strong, stronger! Gravity - it doesn't exist anymore. Bird? Can I say I feel like a bird?
-I'll tell you later. Now, remember the stone? Try to find it and land there. Walk for a while and tell me what you see.
-I landed and I'm walking through the stone. I arrived at the ocean now. What do I do?
-Walk!
-How?
-Walk through the ocean until you find another place to rest.
-It's not working. Can I swim? But, it's impossible to swim that far away, anyways. What does that mean?
-Swimming? That means you're using your brain and heart together. If you want to reach something faster - fly! If you want to enjoy the trip more, swim. Walking is always slower and will never take you somewhere interesting.

R.N.

The Big Bang start

www.anonimdiary.com

  It happens to be that all great miracles in life start with a crash, like life itself. We come to this world because two people decide to make a toast to life, an inner crash that creates a small sphere and expands to perfection. This is how universe did expand from an infinitely small sphere to an immeasurable space. We are part of this universe and we hold one within. It's like a symbiotic relationship that creates masterpieces when feeding each other. 

  We all were held in the same house for nine months and we all were on a suspended state till the moment we faced new surroundings. Every little detail of these surroundings affected our thoughts and they started growing on each picture that our eyes captured. The suspended state got vanished on the first second that light touched our body and that's when we started creating our legend. Yet unconscious, but our existence was making a difference.

  Evolving steps accompany our life and we start deciding how far to set our horizon. This is how far reaches our "dream eye". And consisting to that I know one thing, that blind are only the ones who don't see far for their goals, so they set their horizon as near as they can touch it.
  So, those who dare to take this trip and make a beautiful life evolution, as we all have the ability to make, will never fail on discovering what they aim to. After all, we were the ones involved in the symbioses, so why not let our beautiful inner be stronger than the surrounding? 

R.N.

Wonderland wanted! Alice is lost herself

© pic - www.frantices.com

 Alice, the girl with a famous name, but colorless life, was breathing in, breathing out and doing a monologue. Nothing stood still, but her life.
 "I hear rumors there is a wonderland for everybody, but I haven't seen any yet."
 Her face sculptured from the hands of Lord was hidden under a mask created from the hands of ignorance. Her brain not sculptured at all, reflected empty words and empty acts. She knew nothing, but to show off. She aimed nothing, but a solid family. And when life shook her box, she dared to look out of it, for a second or two.
 "If I try to do something by myself, would I find the wonderland easier that way?"
 Poor Alice, the child of a voluntary parasite, voluntary parasite herself, dreamed to create another voluntary parasite. She didn't see the wonderland was inside her and all around her. It was inside those million words she never read, just after those steps she never took and right outside that box she never opened. The wonderland was in front of her, moving and changing, living and evolving, but a wall made out of a man has always blocked her view. Poor Alice, she believed that was life. She believed of a happiness leaking from the acts of someone else, and never knew she could be sailing a boat on her own happiness river.
 And poor us, the ones that never teased her eyes with some light, we will never know her powers.

  R.N.

When the moon sends a message

© pic - www.frantices.com

  Amelie's head was confronting a messy battle between her thoughts while her feet were promenading along the Santa Monica's beach. Her body felt like a puzzle with missing pieces and she thought she knew where they were thrown.

 "What a haziness" - she sighed. "A few minutes were enough to say out loud the closing sentence of a years long story. I've put my all in this and maybe that's why I haven't seen the last page was coming. He should have warned me, but he didn't dare to. No, he didn't, neither did he dare to keep on holding my hand. And now that we've put this book back in the bookshelf, I can see clear how things were standing and why did he do that."

 She had already passed through the pier ride, crowds of people, along the beach and it was only when she entered a quite park nearby that she understood how loud she'd been talking to herself. Fear was just a word when she sat at the first bench she saw. Darkness filled every pixel of the image her eyes were capturing and her only friends were grasshoppers taking care of the background music. The next battle inside her head was about to begin.

 "He fed up of being the one in the back, as I always dared to be the first one opening unexplored paths. I know he fed up of feeling not a man in the meaning of how humanity has defined a man. And why should the balance of power always be heavier on a man’s side when women have proved wrong, now and a million Sundays back in history? I know men that fear horses as they might not control them. I just set myself free of a man that feared the darkness and is leaving unknown the other half of his world. And I know women that still keep on changing history, as they measure their life in brave moments they live, not in breathing moments. Now I’m free and I can see the difference between love acts and “showing power” acts. But, experience has planted on me seeds of doubt and today I’m questioning the existence of true love around us. The grasshoppers are not giving me an answer.”
 A young couple was entering the park when she decided to have another walk on the beach, this time less confused. Children were running here and there like protons in the nucleus and their smiley faces were proving their positivism. A soft guitar melody was echoing in her ears and she decided to follow that sound. His voice reached her heart: “Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see…” – she looked up in the sky and there was the message she wanted to receive. It took her an eyes opening conversation with herself to see that love is all around. The moon tonight was all red, hiding the missing pieces of her puzzle and the missing pieces of million people’s hearts. She took a long breath from the wind she believed the moon was blowing her, and after that all was good. All was good!

R.N.

Skulpture mendjesh

 Sa i erret duket qielli kur shpresa eshte vetem nje kujtim i pafajesise femijerore. Edhe kete mengjes me zgjoi drita e zbehte e ketij vendi qe ka humbur kuptimin e kufinjeve. Nje territor i pacaktuar me nje tufe njerezish me mendje te kaperthyera – keto fjale e pershkruajne me se miri kete hapesire veshtire te jetueshme.  E nese fitimet e ketyre betejave te veshtira nje dite do te te ngrinin ne parajsen e bukur te jetes, cdo pike djerse e dalur nga mundi do te ishte nje diamant me shume qe kthjellon rrugen drejt suksesit.
 Por, kjo tufe e njerezve qe levizin si kukulla teatri, mbetet vetem pjese e nje eksperimenti te diktatures silente, qe vazhdon e gdhend mendje me nje model.                                                   

 Kush guxon te kundershtoje kete sistem, shpallet tradhetare e injorant qe heq dore nga “endrra” e pakuptimte.  Kush guxon te vrapoje, i thehen kembet ne mes te rruges e qellohet ne gjoks me shigjeta fjalesh per mungese patriotizmi.
 Ne mes te ketij rrjeti arteriesh pa kapilare, nuk gjej rruge alternative per t'i ikur gjerave qe nuk e prezantojne qenien time. 

 Nese shprese ne kete toke nuk ka mbetur me, po kerkoj shpresen e nje dallendysheje qe te kthehet mbrapsht e te me kap ne litarin e lidhur per fyti per ta zgjidhur ne nje vend jashte ketij laboratori te paligjshem i drejtuar nga dogmatike te pandreqshem.

R.N.

The triumph of nature

 

© pic - www.frantices.com

  As the world keeps breathing constantly, I listen to the sounds of my universe. The orbits keep moving its way and they guide my steps. Its power pushes me forward to the places that quench my desires. I discover the world as it keeps breathing. Gravity shows me its power and I happily surrender falling on the ground. This green sheet covers my soul and plants on me queen flowers. Than it gives me the power to fly on the other side, where the beauty walks slowly and it whispers me to spread my soul. Grey fields of anger get smoothed by the sweet-scent of queen flowers and the air just starts to feel lighter. The green army conquers new spaces and its power marvels the world as it keeps breathing. As I am marveled myself, I let my paws to imprint the ground and infect new souls with this happiness virus. All the wickedness that the world has clocked in evaporates as this virus multiplies its power. Seconds don’t stop their tick-tack and the world doesn't stop its breathing. But now, the world inspires the sweet-scent of those flowers and exhales the wind of our souls.

RN

Just the two of us

   "When the sun rays were giving their last shines for that day, seeking through the mountain harbors, you appeared at the gates of my loveland. Never asking twice, I gave you my hand to chase the road that kept on opening by the words we said and breaths we took. The red sky was covering us from evil and the steps we were taking, like fingers that gently play on the piano, started to make a new sonata of our life. It was when the wind was moving my hair like feathers falling on my face when I asked you to stop. The moon had already turned on its light when I turned you on with a soft half smile. I asked to stop walking. We were on that bridge and the water moving under it was all sparkles from the lights of the city. I was enjoying the view when you hugged me from behind. That hug, so tender, would protect me from any world destruction on those moments. Words didn't find a way out nor from me, neither from you. This silence was speaking itself and we were making telepathic conversations through our heads. I could feel what you were thinking, so vivid and spoiled. How could I resist the look of your eyes? Those questionable eyes that took me seconds to fall into,  and it's taking me years but I still can't get enough of them. That's why every road of our life crossed in one place, to start this new path, two of us like one.
  "Let's not preach anymore! Guide me where your heartbeats tend to fly" - I didn't break the silence, I just opened the refrain of our sonata, which turned too allegro once we started walking again. But, this time our walking resembled much more to a dance. We left our shades there and with the steps of this dance we reached the land of our wonders, the home of our spirits. Full of breath, to become breathless..."

R.N.

Sing

  Sing. Sing along the grass, the short one and the one that cuddles to your neck. Speak sweetly to the wind and keep dark words inside you. Shine brightly enough to make them vanish.
 Take fearless steps and follow butterflies. They're spontaneous and spontaneity never lies.
Choose. Between sadness and true laughter, choose to be the winner of your own fight. If you feel good to yourself, you feel good to the world.
 Seek for inspiring places and breath its air to your last lung cell. Exhale your creativity as it's the world's changing key. Change, if changing leads to your true self.
  Run. Even if you do it slow, even if you fall. See how horses make it dusty, but proudly end the show.
 And if still things go wrong, don't panic, neither lose faith.
Just whistle and sing.


R.N.

Quote by Rabindranath Tagore

“Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers,

but to be fearless in facing them.

Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain,

but for the heart to conquer it.

Let me not look for allies in life’s battlefield,

but to my own strength.

                                       Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved,

                                       but hope for the patience to win my freedom.

                               Grant that I may not be a coward,

                               feeling Your mercy in my success alone;

                                But let me find the grasp of Your hand in my failure.”

                           by Rabindranath Tagore 

Panorama de la vie

 Haven’t you noticed how time passes, like river flows through the harbor and the same water never touches the same land again? The feeling becomes a memory, just as millions of seconds have passed through our life and became memories itself. Haven't you noticed how people try to hypnotize you, singing sweet words near your ear, trying to convince you move their way? Just like the summer breeze that softly touches your skin, closes your eyes and moves your limbs. This is the beginning of a slow and sweet surrender which you realize when the breeze has ended, but you've caught the cold.

 I've been taught that life will meet us with a "rainbow of people". There are colors we perfectly match with, colors we just get along or colors that fade our shine. The ones we chose to stay close to are the ones that in a way or another will effect the lighting of our color. Having enough experiences in life and meeting enough people have gained me the talent of knowing immediately who can I get along with and who can I perfectly match with. Usually I've been really generous of giving a lot of my time to people that fade my color while shining theirs. The reason was due to respect, but now it turned to be a good lesson.

 This panorama of river and rainbow, this situation of time and people will be enjoyable and meaningful only when we learn how to swim and how to colorize it. Life will be more productive and vitalized when we manage to control time and spend it with people who truly deserve our generosity, who deserve infinite number of our seconds, who deserve our love.

R.N.

Freedom exists in a schoolbook

  Big square, white tiles, black dividing lines - this is where my feet are and I'm walking. My head is down and my eyes are staring at the straight line I have to follow. A strong wind is pushing me forward, even though I'd want to move against it. Would it be a better direction in a zig-zag way? Most probably yes, but these are the rules I have to follow. Who invented these rules? I have to believe someone smarter than me, even though I may not. Am I content for all of this? I should be, they say. I'm moving and that's essential. Is it?
 I believe not, unless we move in the direction of our own orbit corresponding to the gravity of the world within us, just like Universe does itself since long before the first beat of a heart. This way we'd be free of the nonsense rules and enjoy the absolute freedom. But, nothing absolute exists in a "real" world, nor does this kind of freedom!

The dark symphony

Two colors and the shades are making such a panorama tonight. The pale moon fondling one side of buildings and the other side left in dark, but still completing the beauty. The black silhouettes melt one on the other and I can use my imagination to create new figures out of them. Maybe a giant flute out of one building and a harp next to it. It looks perfect with the snowflakes falling down like notes on the Earth sheet. While I'm breathing them in, I breath out a melody. I take out of my head the sound of freedom, which breaks the silence of the night, flies through the giant black instruments and reaches the moon. There it grows and becomes a scream, a sweet and light scream that doesn't pierce your ear, but just wakes you up and infects every child of the moon, the ones she touches and lights up every night. Some of them remain motionless on their comfortable bad, being afraid of the dark, and others, just a few, being hypnotized follow this sound and become explorers of the night. When they become brave enough not to turn back, and see how much variety and originality there is, they realize this is their own universe brought out in life, their imagination which is capable to create a symphony out of a city, a legend out of a story or a hero out of a man.


R.N.

Hitchhike to Heaven

 Nude should be the person to start a fair path and nude will be the color of his hope.
Red roses and blue sky should cover the gate of his path, but grey it gets as he walks.
Strong he should feel and warmness should cover him as he fights, but blood will weaken him and warriors will nude him down.
Determined he should be, heaven he should see, poor and betrayed he will feel.

But, he knows his destination and nothing should, no nothing will bring him down.

Backwards he should walk, you think, but beauty he will see and proud he will be.
Alone he should talk, you think, but pure is he and full of friends, indeed.
Homeless he should be, you think, but knowledge collects he and people he will feed.
Yes, nude he was, but he did fight. Blood covered, but he got might.

So, he knows his destination and nothing should, no nothing will bring him down.


R.N.

In love

 
 Hand in hand we're not walking, but my heart has found a friend. It's like a puzzle of dreams have come together and a masterpiece is created. He stands next to me, protects me, but gets me hope. I close my eyes and I'm able to see him, but not to touch him, neither to smell. He's the scale I measure others, and not a single one can come that close. He's the best, yet the worst. The tallest, the thickest wall I've built. This is the man I'm in love, the one that walks by me every day, that non existent one.