Ndrek Gjini

Communications Specialist, Web Master, Editor, Translator, Writer


The Death of Night 

Poetry Collection 


The Death of Night

The day is dawning.

My insomnia and I

are gazing at this night’s body and eyes

waking its last moments of life .

Lamps glow inside and outside houses,

and neon lights on the roads and squares

are like bandages on its injured body.

The sun starts opening

the gates of light, bit by bit,

and the night’s last breathing

ends as a blissful spirit.

The night just died.

Let its soul rest in peace.


The Balkan View

I have just passed

the old city of Dubrovnik.

The beautiful hill of Cilipi

like a green hand waves at me.

Then a small river near Gruda

guides me towards Herceg-Novi.

A checkpoint appears here,

like a mouth of a gigantic bear.

then, after just 50 metres

another checkpoint

and then, another one.

After that, sheep grazing in peace,

like small white flags,

moving on the stunning lawns of Bijela.

On the roads of Radovici

drunken soldiers and police officers

chew up war with their nonsense talk.

Near Kotorr, a wonderful waterfall

stretches its hands towards the sea.

In Mjastori, a cloud of gunpowder

swims slowly in the sky.

Then, while passing through Budva,

the blue face of sea appears and hides

and then appears again, as in child’s play.

On the roadsides of Ulcinj

shadows of murdered loves emerge,

walking slowly, in silence.

These rare beauties of nature

can make not only the humans

of every race, nation and religion,

but also birds, flowers, rivers and lawns

feel like flying towards eternity;

all together, in peace.

Yet, the war is the most ruthless

and powerful King

of this beautiful land.

The killings and the death

are the air, the drinking water,

and the daily bread and butter

of the inhabitants.

The only resident of the Balkans

enjoying full freedom is THE HATE.

It’s rich, powerful, and immortal.

It is the only citizen

living here with no fear.



Uncountable micro-planets


circling around the earth,

a heavy stone

on their shoulders’ time is full stop

then death appears, exclamation mark.

The Parents Do Not Die

Mainly the parents do not die.

They just feel lonely

when their children leave the nest,

and they start to miss their own parents.

They go to meet them

and forget to come back.

That’s all.


Closed Doors

It happened years ago.

I left.

After I walked just two or three steps,

I heard the door

anxiously being closed.

I don’t know why

but ever since that moment

the sound that the door made

echoes in my ears

like the clatter of a handful of pebbles

on a coffin.

I started to hate the closure of doors.

To me they sound like coffin lids.


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