Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
The Diaspora
In the suitcase of exile,
not everything ever fits.
Something is always left behind:
the smell of mother’s bread,
the sound of father’s voice at dawn,
the street of the neighborhood
that knew your footsteps even in the dark.
Airports have become
stations of modern sorrow
people holding each other tightly
as if they could stop time
with their hands.
And then, the leaving.
That silent moment
when your homeland remains behind the glass
like a trembling photograph.
In a foreign land,
the days taste different.
You work a lot,
speak a little,
and at night
longing sits beside you
like a friend who never grows tired.
There are nights
when an old melody
breaks your heart more deeply
than loneliness itself.
When the name of your homeland
sounds like a prayer.
And people say:
“you get used to it.”
But no one ever truly gets used
to the absence of home.
Because exile
is not only distance.
It is living between two worlds:
the one you left behind,
and the other
where you still do not fully belong.
Yet still,
we keep walking.
With our homeland in our hearts
and exhaustion in our eyes,
building dreams far away
only so that one day
we may finally have a reason
to return.
Author: Xhuli Spahiu Kosovo
My Children, My Homeland
Somewhere in Europe
in France, Switzerland, and Germany
live pieces of my heart,
like lights shining in the distance,
yet warming the same soul.
I have come from far away,
not to count the miles,
but to gather the embraces
that longing has kept for years.
My children wait for me
with a love that never changes,
and I find myself
in their sincere smiles.
My grandchildren,
these new flowers of life,
fill my days with joy
and my eyes with light.
I listen as they speak
the languages of the countries
where they have grown up,
yet their hearts still know
the language of family love.
What a great blessing it is
to be together again!
To hold the hands of my children,
to feel their closeness,
to see the generation that continues on
like a river
that never runs dry.
Today, Europe seems smaller to me,
because love brings every distance closer.
And I realize that my true homeland
has no borders and no maps.
My homeland is my children,
my grandchildren,
and the love that unites us
wherever we live.
The heart does not live in a place,
but where the hearts
of our loved ones beat.
And my homeland is
my children.
Author: Xhuli Spahiu Kosovo
The Longing of Exile
On the doorstep, a light remains in silence,
waiting for footsteps that have not returned for years.
The children are far away, scattered across the world,
like stars dispersed in a foreign sky.
A mother counts the seasons in longing,
a father hides his tears behind a smile.
Yet the heart knows neither borders nor distance;
each night, it travels to where they are.
And the homeland, silent as a prayer,
holds their names close to its breast,
waiting for the day of their return,
as the earth awaits the rain after a long summer.
Author: Xhuli Spahiu Kosovo
My bio: Xhuli Spahiu is an Albanian poet from Kosovo, whose voice is distinguished by sensitivity, deep reflection, and a refined poetic language. Her poetry explores themes such as identity, love, inner experience, and the relationship between human beings, time, and memory. With a restrained style and carefully selected imagery, she conveys sincere emotions and universal experiences. Through her work, she carries both a national and international mission, promoting love for humanity, spiritual peace, and human values. Her work has been published in various literary magazines and cultural platforms.
