by Vladimir Marku
I raise my tearful eyes of the night
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Look at the balcony of the hurt sky
The young lady day
Hanging clouds to dry.
The clouds dry, and I get quenched
Damping my hopes marrow
The sun of the soul already set
In pain, all universe.
I turn my head to look at me
How I pity my own eyes
Overwhelmed by my thoughts
Clouds drying rain on me.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Vladimir Marku: novelist, poet, essayist, translator and interpreter. Born Durrës, Albania, October, 1950. Graduated at Foreign Languages Faculty, Tirana University. Worked in the oil industry. Presently teaches English at a Private Foreign Languages Institute., Has written twenty-six books, all published, in Albanian and some in English.
Last updated September 20, 2012