Autumn Melancholy - Poetry.

I have been writing since second grade, a little older than Vivian is now. I was 8 years old. Of course, as you all know I am Albanian and that is my mother tongue. The first verses I ever wrote are in Albanian and they rhymed. Fast forward three decades later and I still write in Albanian, though these days is half+half - about 50 percent of the stuff I write is in English and the other 50 is in Albanian. In the last couple of years I have written more in English than in Albanian, even. I write prose, short stories and of course my favorite - poetry. Today I just wrote the English version of an Albanian poem I wrote a couple of days ago. Do you guys know how hard it is to translate a poetry from one language to another?! Trust me, it is hard. Especially if you try to do it in rhymes. The Albanian version of this poetry rhymed, the English one doesn't. But I always think if it's the same author translating a poetry from one language to another, a poetry the writer originally wrote in another language - the translated version of the poetry is much better. Because the author still captures the exact feelings and conveys the message he/she is trying to convey through his or her poem. I even kept most of my metaphors, similes, etc. the same. But - if you want to use Google Translate - below, after my English version of the poem, I will type out the original Albanian version, too. Hope you like it.

Autumn Melancholy - Poetry.

[12.20 P.M. September 30th 2020]

Inside the beating chest of Autumn

where the sun was suffering through the rain's drops,

hidden suspiciously like a star behind the arms of the moon,

she is thinking of him with tears falling down...

Among the maroon, saffron and burnt orange leaves,

some fallen on the ground, some still stuck in trees,

that's how her heart felt, alone, without love,

beaten and tortured from life, tired, it beats without air...

It has run through marathons, within winds, storms and torrential rains,

just like this Autumn in first sight so beautiful,

the heart has suffered, it has been broken and shattered,

don't let her heartbeats fool you, she has no power, dismantled...

She is alone with his text messages,

from the porcelain mug she is drinking a black hot tea,

she misses him, even-though he only left behind pain,

bitter the tea, bitter the memories of him that ended in betrayal...

Just like that, rain fell from the sky, crazy fast rain,

Autumn's chest trembles like a little leaf,

colder days are coming and she is afraid to go outside,

tears bloom in her eyes and the rain forever damped her heart, she is sore...

She pours some red wine inside a stemmed glass

she holds it inside her fingers that once held his rings,

two circle rings like the medallion-looking moon tonight,

two beautiful promises that life forgot, they faded away...

He who had dinner dates with her and filled her wish so much passion,

he who cheated on her, lost her, left her lonesome like Autumn,

he who kissed her lips, her eyes, her tiny ankles and her neck,

he who today is melting inside her memories just like the wine...

Like the Summer season that left so fast and brought this sad Autumn,

like the red wine that she poured in her throat like tears pouring into her cheeks,

...she misses him, she remembers him, she remembers the last time...

the last kiss he gave her, the last dinner she cooked for him, the last time they slept together,

the last movie they watched, the last bottle of wine they drank together...

The last time her heart felt strong next to his heart,

the last song refrain she remembers from their drives in the car,

the last time she was happy with him, happy because of him...

and now everything is the past, just a story, a make-believe...

Liar, she loved a liar,

he lied to her like the sun that comes out in Autumn and doesn't warm you up,

liar, she fell in love with a big liar

and felt the bitterness of the red wine and of the black tea

... as she drank them up, she thought of him...

--------------------------------------

(Albanian version)

Mall Vjeshte...

Në kraharorin e rrahur të Vjeshtës,

atje ku dielli përpëlitet me bulëzat e shiut,

fshehur si yll vjedhurazi pas krahëve të hënës,

ajo ndjen mall për atë që lotët i derdhi e pastaj i piu...

Mes gjetheve të kuqerremta, verdhacuke, portokalli,

ca të rëna përtokë, ca ende nëpër pemë,

ashtu ndjehet edhe zemra e shkretuar, pa dashuri,

e stërprovuar nga jeta, e lodhur, rreh por nuk ka frymë...

Maratonave ka rendur, erëra, stuhira, shira të rrëmbyer,

ashtu si kjo Vjeshtë në dukje kaq e bukur,

zemra ka vuajtur, ka humbur, është trokarur e thyer,

mos u gënjeni nga rrahjet e saj, forcën e ka humbur...

Ajo është e vetme me tekst-mesazhet e tij,

nga filxhani i porcelantë po pi një çaj të zi,

malli e ka marrë, edhe pse dhimbje la pas ai,

i hidhur çaji, të hidhura kujtimet që përfunduan në tradhëti...

Ashtu pak nga pak, qielli çoi shiun e ai po bie i marrë,

kraharori i Vjeshtës përpëlitet si gjethe e vogël që dridhet,

ditë më të ftohta po vijnë dhe ajo ka frikë të dalë,

lotët i mbinë si sytha dhe shiu përjetësisht ja lagu zemrën, ajo mpihet...

Një verë të kuqe hedh brenda një gote me fron,

e vërtit nëpër gishtat që dikur mbanin unazat e tij,

dy unaza të rrumbullakta si hëna e sotshme medalion,

dy premtime të bukura që jeta i harroi, i perëndoi...

Ai që darkonte me të, e ja mbushte trupin me pasion,

po ai që e tradhëtoi, e humbi, e la të shkretë si Vjeshta,

ai që ja puthte buzët, sytë, kaviljet elegante të këmbëve dhe gushën,

ai që sot shkrihet nëpër kujtimet e saj bashkë me verën...

Si stina e Verës që iku dhe solli Vjeshtën e trishtë,

si vera e kuqe që e derdhi në gurmaz teksa lotët e lagën,

...kështu ka mall dhe i kujtohet e fundit herë...

e fundit puthje që i dha, e fundit darkë që i gatoi, e fundit herë që fjetën bashkë,

i fundit film që panë, e fundit shishe vere që e ndanë dhe e pinë...

E fundit herë që zemra e saj u ndje e fortë pranë zemrës së tij,

i fundit refren kënge që i kujtohet kur ishin bashkë në makinë,

e fundit herë që ishte e lumtur me të, e lumtur nga ai...

dhe tani gjithçka është një e shkuar, një histori, një trillim...

Gënjeshtar, ajo deshi një gënjeshtar,

e gënjeu si dielli i Vjeshtës që nuk të ngron, kthehet në shi,

gënjeshtar, ajo ra në dashuri me një gënjeshtar,

dhe hidhërimin e verës e të çajit të zi

...e ndjeu teksa e kujtonte me mall...