Poems by Lan Qyqalla

Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού

Lan Qyqalla, graduated from the Faculty of Philology in the branch of Albanian language and literature in Prishtina, from Republika of Kosovo. He is a professor of the Albanian language in the Gymnasium. He has written in many newspapers, portals, Radio, TV, and Magazines in the Albanian language and in English, Romanian, Francophone, Turkish, Arabic, Italian, Greek, Swedish, Hindu,  Spanish, Korean etc.
He published the books:
1. “Autumn of love in Pristina” Collection of poems, 2022 Pristina (This poetic work talks about the author’s walks with his girlfriend in Pristina. The main theme of these poems is lyrical, with figures, metaphors, literary and artistic symbols of the time and space of the country where the author comes from. The title itself is synonymous with the capital with which the poetic lyric of the poet Qyqalla is connected).
2. “Parfumul iubirii” (Scent of love) Bucharest, 2020 ( This work has the same theme as the love lyrics in the work “Autumn love in Pristina, but translated into Romanian)
3. “Lora” poetic collection in Turkish, translated and adapted by Acad. Kopi Kyçyku, Istanbul 2022 (This collection of poems is taken from the work in the Albanian language “Lora” but translated and adapted into the Turkish language with love lyrics for Loren)
4. “A l`ombre des muses” (“In the shadow of the muse”) French, L’Harmattan Publishing House, Paris, 2018 December 24, ( This work is also a French translation from the Albanian work “LORA”. In Paris, it was translated and published in French at the “L’Harmatta” Publishing House. The translator has the right to give another title to the language he is translating. So they titled it “A lombre des muse” in French)
5. “Nymph of a wounded heart” stories, in 2013 in Pristina, (This work is based on the stories of the novel “Nymph of a wounded heart”. This prose work deals with topics from the history of the country and the Albanian people from 1878 to the present day, but there are also stories with themes of love in the time of different characters who live and work in Pristina and the surrounding area).
6. “Tears – sea of pain” Albanian poem, in Pristina, in 2016, (In this collection of poems, the author dedicates all the poems in this work to the death of his wife. This misfortune struck the author at the age of 55 and the poems are a dedication to his beloved)
7. “Tears-sea of pain” was translated into Romanian, published in Bucharest 2016 (And this is the same collection of poems that with devotion, feeling and pain the poet dedicates this book to his wife, but translated and published now in Bucharest, Romania)
8. “LORA” Albanian poem, in 2017 in Pristina, (The book of poems “LORA” written and published in Albanian in Pristina, the capital of the Republic of Kosovo. As we said above, there are poetic artistic themes for his girlfriend Loren)
9. “Passport of love” Bucharest, 2018, (This work of poetry was translated and published in Bucharest, Romania. In this work, the author pours the landscape of poetic and literary architecture for his girlfriend Loren)
10. “Lora mon amour” French, Bucharest, 2018 and (The same poetic work translated into French and published in Romania)
11. “Passport of love” English, published in Bucharest 2018 (The same poetic work translated into English and published in Romania)…

12. “Autumn of love in Pristina”Albanian SHB PRESS LIBERTY, poetry, Pristina ( This poetic work in the Albanian language, published in Pristina, talks about student life, dating women, love, student life, walks with women in the places of Pristina, in Germise Park, in Ulpiane, merged into the poetic-artistic altar full of feeling, physical and aesthetic, artistic and literary)
13. “Automne d’amour a Prishtina”. Translated into French Prof. Ismail Ismail, French, L’Harmattan Publishing House, Paris, 2023, Review by Francophone critic Laurent Griso, (The same poetic literary work, but translated and adapted into French. The well-known French critic, poet and painter Laurent Grisson has written a critical review for this work).

14. “Kärlekens höst i Pristina”, Swedish, Malmo Sweden, translated by Prof. Ismjal Jashanica, (The same poetic literary work, but translated and adapted and published in Malmö, in the Swedish language)
15. “Toamna dragostei la Pristina” Romanian, Bucharest translated by Baki Ymeri, (The same poetic literary work, but translated and adapted and published in Bucharest, in the Romanian language)
16. “Priştine’de aşk sombarı” Turkish, translated by Akademik Kopi Kyçyku
17. “The chart of the soul” stories and novels, Prishtina, 2022, ( This work is in prose with stories and novels. The content of these novels is from the social, social life, where the characters are real, today, covered with artistic events experienced and felt in the depth of the soul of the writer Qyqalla. The characters and events correspond to the time and space of the Albanians, reflecting real life with its nuances of love, separations from the girlfriend/boyfriend, etc.).

– In the International Competition for poetry in Torre Meliso in Italy, he received the 1st Prize of Albanian, on May 2017
– In 2017, he received the CREATIVE AWARD OF THE YEAR in Fushë-Kosovo, Kosovo
– In 2018, the Association of Albanian Writers in Macedonia gives the AWARD OF THE YEAR “Under the shadow of the maple” to Skopje, for the best poetic book

– He is the Director of the Association of Writers “Naim Frashëri” in  Kosovo
– Editor-in-Chief at “OrfeuElite” Magazine
– Member of the Editorial Board of the Magazine of World Historians based in Switzerland
– Vice-President of the Union of Albanian Writers and Critics
– He works as a Professor of Albanian Language and Literature at the Gymnasium.
He lives and works in Pristina, Kosovo.



embroidered Valentine’s Day
on the map of love
Egnatia-Naisus street
and in passing I also took
the honey flavor
from the hot ashes
of the estinguished fire.

like a blonde ladybug in the meteorite
nobody whispers
on the map of love
and the star twister out of exhausted longing
in the timeless feeling
brought the freshness of age
the kiss of the mountain like Hera from Olympus
departed in the endless today

frozen in heat
slightly heated to the bosom of love
“I’m very cold
Lan takes me with him
I do not want flowers
a white rose
to have for Valentine’s Day! “


Hello! Hello!
the voice hums like in a cave,
I had forgotten the color of the voice
in this agn of late month.
Hello, hello…
the voice on the other side shuddered
in the raging river,
-Yes I am,..
here.closed in the ego
“gnosi” the lip timbre,
turmoil of times
or late spring?!
Hello, I’m Lora,
nothing important
in me the shadow of longing
affects the absorbed nectar
in search of immortality…
I clutch the phone
I feel stuck in water, who revives my fire?
Mekur in late May?!
Hello, Hello…, listen to me!
I am the sin-ridden Danaide,
why don’t you talk to me
why are you silent?
…I can hear you on the other side,
I was disturbed by this phone call in the last month.


The rainbow appeared
behind the lines of rain,
the worries and troubles of stis,
carved verses
where the west burned,
in the braided flower,
we put a wreath.

You can’t see the rainbow
it didn’t rain a little,
in my eyes…!


We met in the fall,
in the amphitheater you tweet…
the streets of Pristina,
in the cold night,
shoot me like a mountain fairy.
the stars were aligned
that summer evening in your tear,
we were both lost in the untouched oasis
and the lips stopped at the sounds FlokArtë.
Why did we travel, tell me why
in the cold winter and snow,
the beaming sun gave us a gift,
you ray of sunshine lit me siashra.
Why did we run to the meadows, why
in the early spring fragrance of love
we pray to the flowers of the green field,
embraced we felt exotic intoxication.


The poet,
They give the words a meadow color
evoke memories in torn maps
does not believe in the miracles of the Mountain Fairies
of the world forgives love!
The poet cooks the word
in the magic of poetry,
in the chain the verses of the verses
stigmatizes renegades
with the measure of memory
in the arboreal fireplace.

Poet, in verse
the storm and the sun in the sun bring,
the figures are planted with love,
under the word
it bakes a world
that you don’t know
fused into crystal…
on the poetic harp you compress it.

The poet dreams
Aphrodite in the light of the lantern,
and he engraves the stalagmites in the cave
in the poetry book


After centuries we will get drunk
On the salty altar
we will remember your escape in the spring,
the colors will change,
there will be neither red, nor black, nor green
it will be only blue;
there will be no age, only death
neither school, nor court, nor work,
the whole thing will be like a game…
there will be sea in overtime
life will develop there in the depths,
ships will sail without gas
my dear

The air will be polluted
and the oxygen will be rarefied,
rain will not fall, nor snow, nor typhoon
there won’t be, everything will be the same
in ruins of centuries,
abandoned houses that people are looking for,
fierce wars will be fought
they will cry: bread, air and palaces
with your absence,
that day will come after a few centuries,
where you and I will eat in glass dishes
and we will knit the verses
on the silk fabric,
they will be fed to the spotted birds
and drunk, that day will come very soon,
my love…
these verses will be: proof of a love.

(Melissa of New York)

Melissa asked me to imitate Odysseus,
not to listen
sirens of the deep,
nor the poet’s erotic verses
in the rocky waves of the sea.

In New York he studied Pythagoras,
the language of mimicry read the unspoken word
wrote it in saltiness,
where life is a dream
and the dream becomes life.

The epic words underwent a metamorphosis,
the seagulls danced
over our heads,
deep sea conception
shivers run through,
air in New York
I missed the thrill of life.


The pigeon made the wrong journey
with the letter written in the color of the sun,
where the moon hung on the white feathers
and the field swayed in the boy’s nap…,
her heart ached in June,
raindrops washed the streets of the smoky village,
the pigeon lands at the wrong address…street number 1986.
The dove, that morning, decorated the song in the bird’s nest,
the rotten mammal was flying
to bring tidings to the chord of Eros,
in Pristina it stops at Ulpiana,
relieves fatigue in the stork’s stork,
the reception smells of the White Crow,
Doris wrote the letter beautifully
in a duel he sought in the Chair
on street number 1986.
The late letter faded into reading…
she sheds tears on the side path,
crow’s feet, seeking separation
in the corner of the heart the melody of hope,
spiders in Doris’s painting
they embroider the bride’s dowry
the late letter wet with tears,
two-way flow switches cards,
to the wrong address –
a life in search traverses, road number 2016.

(The letter left from Peja city in Kosovo,in June 1986, reached Bardh village of Kosovo, in November 2016). The distance between Peja and Bardhi is 45 km!


Good evening –
a portrait appears on the screen,
blonde girl with lots of bangs,
special name in this late fall.
Letters get lost on the keyboard,
confusion of emotions in the frozen landscape,
“I’m sorry… – I wanted to say hi,
I have a shiver in me!
“Well, for a few years now, they have made themselves…
“break of sweat on the afflicted forehead,
vision lost in crystal ecstasy…
that, behind the glass a more simplistic world.
He dances his fingers to the chord
of syntactic timbre submerged in pools of tears,
“how close we are, how far we feel”,
this antithesis said in synonymy,
a lot has changed, a lot.
A single path of divine longing,
where I hear the return in late winter,
suspend the sworn oath,
I am looking for architecture
in Rozafa Bridge,
nothing has changed, nothing.


My goodness
Golden hair
in a wedding dress,
it disturbs my life
how you glean the corn
who wear and weave maiden crowns.
There was a mole on the cheek, the weight on the eyebrows
of mortal suffering, in the hands of fate
embroidered in Pelasgian letters,
history cashed in mythology.
The two portraits of your soul,
a woman in infinity
which wreath we laid on the altar of happiness,
the white wedding sheet
you stole from me treacherously!
On our pillow
we share the dreams of the future,
I miss you so much..


You sat in the lap of dreams
I caressed her tender lips with caresses
and breasts flourished in my drunkenness,
Song of the Sibyls in poetic verse.
In the oasis of the aroma of tea we lay down,
in the leaves we looked at the unlived life,
we scratched the skin in myzava,
we used to fight in lectures for years.

We poured over the river bed
morality wrapped in dogma,
we spat the time we didn’t know each other
and when we got to know each other, we hugged.
You embroidered the bride in the poet’s muse,
I’m a persecuted muhajiri
I sought refuge in love
our harp was longing.

(dedication to my late wife)

Eurydice, come back one day,
that my song for you does not stop
prayer to Hades touches ancient crystals,
my muse invades Diana’s verse,
I will not turn my head back
that I am not Orfe.
Eurydice, take the fairies’ journey,
come to visit and don’t stop there to see
the children have grown up. Teuta walks
your traces in Grammar,
Fly like birds in flight,
Lali stays calm like a meteor pillar,
cold winter has fallen on me
I have snow everywhere on my head.
Eurydice, I wrote you a letter,
in which paradise do you rest,
sorry i didn’t have an address
and started the journey without a visa,
no passport, no goodbye
and how do we wish this year?!

The Sun’s Tears

I do not trust
the sun’s
and Lora’s

I do not trust
ofher word
or the longing
I have for her.

The Drawer of Forgetfulness

I locked you up
in the drawer of forgetfulness
as the crystalline water under the earth
and the crumpled writing on the gray sheet
proof of the time spent in the studio

I saw you
in the labyrinths of the faculty
where the Alphabet’s raytwinkles
your voice can be heard in each class room
in the workbook you
are piling up the memory years.


We wander through time
like snakes in the bushes
Lora and I
in the ecstasy of the painting
I gave her Mona Lisa’s smile
I drank water from Lora’s bosom
and I lost myself in adolescent dreams,

I gave Lora a life
I gave the sky a kiss
the sun seemed to be silent
and left a free way to darkness
the rainbow lightens my way
fiery I take the stars to the bosom
I hug the sun
to feel its tenderness.

Lora is silent
and she silently speaks
in her blonde hair
I touch the love
embers in the lap
white frost
he left traces

Lora is asleep
with the fiery stars
tickling her lips
in the corrugated crown
the sounds of silence
I put her crown
and I read under her eyelids
the novel I will write
Lora with her bosom as virgin snow
lures the Talmudists’ years
Lora crystalline meteor.


I am drunken with craving
of cords of your voice
I seek the canary of love
in the labyrinths of the soul
the morning messenger is not heard
nor he knits the sounds cardigan of Monastery
you, the lost one in the waves of forgetfulness.

I glaze the pictures in the museum
I doze in present time
the verb love
I conjugate in first person
Because you loved me
I track in mirative form
the time passed in lucidity
what to wish you tonight as you forgot me.

Ah, with the sweetness of the vowels
Quivered even my lake
we, like two canaries in the mountains
loosing trails in canon
me, you and the voice
tonight brings me back to nostalgia.