ALBERT V. NIKOLLA

ALBERT V. NIKOLLA

Traumatising

Silently traumatising the thoughts of the brain!

in the opaque window of a mysterious universe,

look at the days revolving around a fine sun,

that fills my rebellious soul with mad ice light!

I am like a flower with spacial flying propellers,

disintegrate into matter, and quickly recreate flowers,

blind revenge of the hidden moons of life seller,

in orgasmic experiences with screams and claws ...

Pull the rope, and stop the beloved spirit nicely,

I do not die, I am solid and eternal flying

around the horizons, where ghosts hide at night,

there are hunters of souls who dream of me,

but they will never have me, in their power.

Time slips like the water of an unknown ocean in retreat,

Planet X is approaching the appearance of a scary virus,

in the afternoon drinking tea in the pistil garden at the touch,

I have discovered that I hate you mentally… like a crush….

Do whatever you want, and talk about your escape at midnight,

for sexual intercourse with cannibal men in discos trait

the last notes, I will throw in the log of the perverse crowds,

as Homeric revenge for your epoch-making betrayal ...slash!

Colours Of Madness

In my garden I planted all the colours of madness,

and I began to plough like a donkey, for great deeds,

a ray of sunshine burned my belly at the navel,

and my stomach ached ... now nothing to eat!

by a lava river, I stand without visible feelings,

on a mental journey, imposed by short life,

the return to reality will extinguish the colours of fiction,

like a sevenfold meltdown in a blinding explosion!

Time has no shape; time has no colour and of course no heart

time is not intelligent matter, it does not show any face,

it just eats our days, shortens our lives with a start,

as our heads turn grey and energies slacken on impact.

to escape from oneself, one needs the courage of a lion,

to turn to lies, the beast needs patience to access,

to not go crazy, you need wisdom sound in progress,

psychopathic pavilion, in a red parallel universe!

Forbidden chronicle of an extinct concept,

in fossil particles, of an unorganised world,

light triplet, without a sudden flat in access,

swim in the ocean where the end is not visible,

dolphin divine, which becomes saltier in the air like flesh.

Migratory Chaos

Now in these late hours of being,

birds have migrated in migratory chaos

somewhere in the gloomiest periphery of the mind,

all memories are immersed in heavy winter sleep,

only you are left, in the centre of my head staring,

like you prisoner in the crazy passions of drunkenness ....

To be silent is like being dead, completely extinct

to speak meaninglessly is worse than to be silent,

to say wise words, life makes sense, filling

this is philosophy, the meaning that science hides.

As a friend, I’m planting my ideas, in your fluid garden,

I hope infertility does not appear suddenly,

in the depths of my orgasm waiting in heather,

Anticipation!... i have a ship with a claw over a meter

I will plow the land as Cadmus of antiquity,

my great-grandfather ... to discover the letters!

I don't think about the punishment that awaits me insidiously,

for the enemies who dream of seeing me in the grave,

I am the ardent lion running the red steppe of Africa in sync,

I sing my freedom, under a sun that fills me with passion

Now in these late hours of being,

To be silent is like being dead, completely extinct

As a friend I am planting my ideas, in your fluid garden,

I don't think about the punishment that awaits me insidiously,

like you prisoner in the crazy passions of drunkenness ....

Sun Head-Shaving,

Cassandra Dreams

Meadows And Dogs Running

The sun is washed in water, head-shaved galaxy

Until the foundation of your heart be built with concrete blocks,

My stomach swims a little further,

you who loves the sun hates me.

Cassandra also bathes in the waters of lunar Jupiter,

Woolly hair entangled with sex

water temperature minus a hundred and twenty-five celsius,

It is said that freezing will not prevent terrible dreams,

Hitler and Achilles in a secret supper,

drink the blood of innocent Jews instead of wine,

Troy continues to feast,

As played by charlatans a whore with head of menthol,

Christ imprisoned for treason in the Vatican, by order of the people,

Atomic explosions expected in Kiev and Tehran,

Name of Moscow, expected to change in Tact

Satellites decipher hieroglyphics mysteriously from the sky

London alarmed by predictions of mediums:

Georgia will have blood.

You have decided on the grape squeezer as worn on the back of the oak

My pine fluid, with gestures of dirty naked kissing

As the place filled with flowers and shrimps,

Meadows are the belly and breasts the mountains sprinkled with green

The dead would emerge from underground wearing mole skins,

And hunters running dogs in fields,

The Kremlin will have killed sixty-six,

When the devil becomes prime minister.

Chronicler blinded by lack of truth,

I will go to mount Sinai and ask the burning bush,

On the one hand to hold the lamb, on the other a sceptre,

Then will I shout until God listens to the seventh heaven,

"I was lost, how can I win,

Hell is far away, not to roam the area which you burn,

not to be depressed,

the shaft that rules our soul,

grinds with the utmost thought for Mother Teresa in Calcutta."

Then,

Run-off in neat piles at a Jerusalem market

I will buy salad,

will cherish those mad English cows

and Albanian parliamentarians.

The sun emerges from the pool of galaxy and sneezing,

Within your heart cemented as the atomic bomb against the bunker,

You hate me because I shaved my head,

I am a creature of love in error.

Skis Ice

Brilliantine,

Limbo

And Nostalgia

On the icy sky of brilliantine,

hang thoughts, as well buckets over a deep basin,

So when the toad reaches in,

To cut away the clean surface of reflected sky

We will have water to drink.

Opinions will depend on how the grape blooms,

Under Monday's secret night out in February,

The leaves will be our wildest conjectures,

Trunk of vine, the dreams,

Who will eat the berries,

Does the fox flee,

Through nightmares?

Being in the mill is grinding her sex,

As pure and poverty-stricken cows run to grass

When you prepare a dog for hunting, do you wear boots?

Since investigators do not distinguish a criminal from his tracks,

And when I shoot a hare:

do I send in cave bears?

Let the cry of the Saudi people scream,

Who killed the poor!

Time is a meaningless stretch of matter,

At the extremes of being,

I miss ice-cream,

In the winter night as he walks the streets like crazy,

I'll put out my rebellion,

Monday will rob laughter brutally,

(So how will I tremble from fear of heaven itself?

stars in the oil will be taken out)

And singing a Viking song,

Shall eat leisurely mounds as if a female,

As it melts, and nothing is left

Will focus on the Atomium to quench thirst,

Viewing the only movie that I love and hate,

"Commissioner Maigret and others."

This Sunday, was not seen at the Royal Cathedral,

Sad charlatan lovers on the run,

But when I returned to the mailbox I found a labelled paper,

Reading: "You are an intractable beast,

a devilish creature with no heart - to bitter laughter,

which as punishment I replaced with another."

(We had made love last night,

not sex wiped up with toilet paper,

had but failed to exchange kisses, ...

Can this be called Satanic!)

Will send my reply with sour dreams,

as do all poets without recovery,

"Pierce my chest with bombs and missiles,

I will survive, you will die Remix of crackers,

Yet you're the only girl who lives deep inside my heart."

On the icy sky with brilliantine,

hang thoughts as well buckets over a deep basin,

So when the toad reaches in,

We would have died,

without knowing love.

By eating vegetables on Sunday morning,

being half asleep after Brussels at night,

I thought of fleeing Mentlerit,

Daughter of Zodiac.

It was later

The rope was cut,

Carried over the burning flesh of forgetting,

We do not take our medicine

nor can we wash our hands,

No water, no fancy doing,

Backs itching,

In the basement of the house a cough is heard,

Pertussis women with shaved legs free.

Sadly Children Know

That Disruptive Father

Afternoons are distressing

Above the glass plates with strawberry cream dessert,

The remaining salad will be thrown turtle,

In the aquarium with adjacent seats.

Sadness over the woman who is pregnant,

Coldness of the man who is sterile,

The child will never know the real father,

I will raise it in a rose garden.

Beer is cold and tastes wonderful in Brussels

I drink slowly and throw out a word without meaning,

As the loser in all seasons,

Beautiful asks if I drink coffee,

secretly with eyelet blouse.

Plateaus will fuse afternoon with the wind’s spirit,

And rain will arrive on the clouds of heaven as a camel,

The sun will be hidden by sneezing,

Love his failures.

And trains will leave the forest areas with grass,

Toward the Netherlands where windmills turn,

Where elephants cry like cows,

And shepherds walk with horses.

Diamonds of Antwerp in her eyes,

As he brings the coffee to our table,

And happy is the child in her womb;

Opposite my deep sorrow.

Translated fromAlbanian to English“Në emër tëdashurisë” –

(Name of love)TIRANA-ILAR-2015 IBSN: 978-9928-178-60-2

ALBERT V. NIKOLLA

ALBERT NIKOLLA: relies on his literary prose works and 12 translations four within 16 years from the time of the release of the first book of the new "Last Lovers", which was well received by the criticism, especially by the reader who bought a four-month period the total copies in circulation. According to the most qualified specialists in Albanian letters, the author is already recognized as the founder of the surrealistic novel in Albanian literature. "First Surrealist novel of Albanian literature, is probably" Looking Perpetum-mobile "author Albert Nikolla, - has specified Doc. Prof. Xhevat Lloshi - designer and critic of the Albanian language, during the presentation of the work in the Great Hall of the National Museum of Albania November 29, 1999. One of the leading specialists of the Albanian language now, Prof. Doc. Gjovalin Shkurtaj has been before the public, the fact that the author is one of the few writers who has managed to put in his novels more than 40 000 words, and in addition the author is well known not only a language rich qualitative, but also as a narrator very modern compared to other contemporary writers.