 Irsa Ruçi is an Albanian Writer, Speechwriter and Lecturer. She was born in Tirana, Albania, in 1990. Her books of poetry include “Trokas mbi ajër (poems and essays), 2008 and Pështjellim (poetry), 2010. She has been published in anthologies: Antologji, 2007; I kërkoj agimit vesën, 2008; Antologji poetike “Kushtuar dashurisë”, 2014; Antologji poetike “Udha”, 2014; Antologji poetike, 2014; “Malli dhe brenga nga distancat”, 2014; Antologji poetike “Qyteti”, 2014; Poeteca, 2015; and her works has appeared in a number of print and online national and international magazines, including Sling Magazine, Issue 5; Ann Arbor Review, Issue 15; Poeteca Magazine, Issue 35; Aquillrelle Anthology, 2015, Aquillrelle Anthology, 2016, Metaphor Magazine Issue 5, The Commonline Journal, Issue 4/22 etc. And Among many awards, she has received the first prize in poetry, in competition "Anthology 2007", as the best poet in Albania. Waiting for light I’ll stand till the dragonflies Be aware that you can’t play with time Without reflecting it in the peaceful times Discretion of night, But the strange side of the day Is lost… Then, I’ll stand a little for my self Till I write all the lines I want Before dragonflies be gone. The cherry tree will blossom Till I end the last poem Written unconsciously Written in absence While I was waiting the birth of dragonflies! I’ll stand till I have wiped out The last tear of sadness In the polluted pond of our consciousness. © Irsa Ruçi (Translated by Silva Daci) Self to oneself In dreams confused in this night’s sleep I got to know you unintentionally Appearing innocently: without the daily masque! I started to spy Sneakily With the other’s compassion That is so merciless Like a war of hyenas Made up devilishly only for attention… You were so beautiful where others are gone Free, Invincible, Almost a character borrowed from fairy tales It was you, Without the creature you carry in your shoulders Every time the world turns in despise Shown with the glory of simplicity Of the poet Who sacrifices himself till becoming one with the lines To give light to the cold earth. But the night put off the candle: and my eyes Got blind Till they turned recognisable, time stole the truth away Beyond the consciousness… The human is frail in front of himself Because the evil only weighs to the self… © Irsa Ruçi (Translated by Silva Daci) The melody in lines The spirit’s melody inside Is the recreation of the human is his art The discreteness of the endless sight Merged in sensations. The wine’s taste like woman’s scent Strong Dazzling Piercing Till the madness of thought (…drink is consumed after you tried the nectar of life in sweetness of ever – ending moments!) Lucid is the deepness of red, like the girlish virginity In that body of dreams Knitted with the strange In the soft lip of a lady bug Who gets drunk by wine drops. They say that the best poems are written When the foolish poets betray their lines For a glass of wine… © Irsa Ruçi (Translated by Silva Daci) Conveyance In the mirror we pretend to see our self Appears the other, like an unaware consciousness That weighs in the tired face Of strange perceptions… Am I what I see, or do I see that image that I’ve been told I am and try to find bridges Between my soul and the world? What if myself to be the other Who after grabs my masque Seeks to appear like me Reflecting the same Thoughts, Attitudes, Delirious imaginations With which I fight the daily monotony… …One day I spied my shadow while conspiring With the reflected shadow of my own shadow And I discovered that I am the society product Which lives with the appearance and hides From the consciousness. … In the mirror we only see our fears! © Irsa Ruçi (Translated by Silva Daci) 
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