Jeton Kelmendi [Albania / Kosovo]

 

Far or Near (The Rhythms of Being) 

I have crossed beyond silence,
not as one who departs, but as silence itself
learning how to walk.
 
I have crossed dimensions
unknown to mathematics,
yet known to the trembling of the soul
when time beats like a weary heart
in the chest of the universe.
 
One step – was life,
one pause – was death,
one breath – resurrection.
 
Thus I walked, from distance to closeness,
from closeness to loss,
until I understood
that the path leads nowhere else
but to the self.
 
Distances I drew near
not with steps, but with meaning;
I held them within my mind
like stars that cannot be touched,
yet guide with love.
 
Some closeness I let drift away
those that beat outside my rhythm,
those whose bodies were near
but whose absence lived within.
 
My true friends
are far in space,
yet close in the rhythm of living:
our hearts beat
within the same interval of time,
even when the universe separates us by continents.
 
The things I no longer possess
I hold tighter than those I can touch,
for matter tires, but memory is pure energy.
 
My friend, physicist and poet,
eight thousand kilometers away,
is only a second of thought close.
 
Between us stretches space,
but it is not an obstacle - it is proof
that closeness is not distance,
but resonance.
 
We are close in everything essential:
in doubt, in the unanswered question,
in the silence that speaks more truly than any formula.
 
Only kilometers separate us
that unit of measure with no soul,
no memory, no rhythm.
 
And thus I arrived at myself:
not as an arrival,
but as the dissolution of illusions.
 
I understood that I am
the space where distance becomes closeness,
and closeness learns to depart
without being lost.
 
For the self
is a metaphysical dimension, where every heartbeat
is philosophy, and every breath
a silent act of life. 
 
 
The Algorithm of Dreams
 
In the cells of night, a hidden program ignites,
the algorithm of dreams that remains awake before us,
and takes our breathing as binary code,
as if man himself were a prayer imprisoned in light.
 
In sleep, the world begins to search our desires:
the love we cannot confess aloud,
the success that weighs upon the soul like an impatient star,
the small power of the day we long to magnify into the sky,
the cohesion we no longer find in fragmented time.
 
And the dream returns, repeating itself,
for modern man no longer sleeps alone
he sleeps with his phone, with the screen that preserves
silent secrets: what we have searched,
whom we have loved, what we have lost.
 
There, in digital silence, the seed of the dream is planted.
Invisible servers read the beating of the heart
as an endless query:
“find happiness,” “return time,” “give me a little more.”
 
And then the night returns it as a vision:
the same room appears, the same person,
the same horizon we could not reach by day.
 
As if to tell us:
your path does not change unless you change it yourself.
 
But the algorithm of dreams is not an enemy
it only reflects what we have written within the soul,
what we confess to the world in silence,
when fingers move across the screen
and the heart seeks a word it could not find
in the light of morning.
 
In the end, we awaken with a gentle shadow of meaning:
change the dream, and you will change the world within you.
 
For every night, life asks us in a quiet voice:
which version of yourself do you wish to rewrite today?
 
And the algorithm remains silent…
but the dream answers. 
 
 
Life as a Story Written by Someone Else
(Who is the author of our life?)
 
 
Sometimes I think
that my life has been written by someone else,
with an invisible hand,
in a manuscript I am not allowed to edit.
 
The most beautiful sentences
appear suddenly,
like gifts I never asked for,
while the darkest chapters
I find in nights when I forget who I am.
 
Am I the character,
or the hand trembling over the paper of fate?
 
Perhaps only the voice
that reads in a low tone
what was written from the very beginning.
 
The people I meet
are sentences someone has placed before me,
some to teach me
how pain is written,
others—how silence is forgiven.
 
And yet, at times,
I feel I manage to change a comma,
to add a breath,
to turn a line in another direction.
 
Is this freedom, or its illusion?
Try and understand it now.
In the end, when the last page closes,
and the light fades in the corner of memory,
perhaps the author will smile softly
and ask me:
 
Did you love your story,
or did you merely live it?
 
I will remain silent.
 
Because in silence,
perhaps for the first time,
I will feel the writer’s hand
placing the pen in mine after a comma.
 
(November 12, 2025, Prishtina)
 
 
Author’s Bionote:
 
*Jeton Kelmendi is one of the most prominent figures of contemporary Albanian literature and a voice with wide international resonance. Born in 1978 in Peja, Kosovo. He is a poet, scholar, translator, and university professor, known for his rich literary creativity and his commitment to promoting Albanian literature worldwide. Kelmendi has published dozens of books of poetry, essays, and literary studies, translated into more than 42 languages and included in prestigious international anthologies. His poetry is characterized by deep philosophical sensitivity, a modern language, and a universal approach to themes such as love, identity, freedom, and human existence. He often intertwines elements of Albanian tradition with a contemporary global spirit. In addition to his literary work, Jeton Kelmendi is active in academic and cultural fields, participating in international conferences, poetry festivals, and translation projects. He has contributed to building cultural bridges among peoples through literature and intercultural dialogue. Awarded with dozens of international prizes and recognitions, Kelmendi is considered one of the most distinguished European poets of our time and an ambassador of Albanian culture on the global stage.