# Kultura > Letërsia shqiptare > Krijime në gjuhë të huaja >  Poezi nga Migjeni

## SUPERSTAR_N1

Preface of prefaces 




Day by day the gods decline,
Their images slipping over 
The years and centuries, 
And now, no one knows who is god and who is man. 
In the brain of mankind god is crouched, 
Fingertips pressed to his temples 
In sign of remorse 
And in his bitter regret cries out: 
What, oh what have I created? 
Man does not know 
Whether god is his creation 
Or he a creation of god, 
But he sees that it is folly
To meditate upon an idol 
That answers not. 
And now, no one knows who is god and who is man. 
A time has come 
When men understand one another well enough 
To build the Tower of Babel- 
And at the top of the Tower, to the highest throne 
Man will mount 
And thence cry out: 
God! Where are you?

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## SUPERSTAR_N1

The sons of the new age 


We, the sons of the new age, 
Leaving the old to its 'holiness' ,
Have clenched our fists to fight In new battles 
And to triumph. .. 
We, the sons of the new age, 
Scions of a soil drenched in tears 
Where the sweat of our brows has been shed in vain, 
For our land was the prey of foreigners 
Whose fury had to be paid for dearly. .. 
We, the sons of the new age, 
Brothers born and raised in misery ,
When our ultimate and joyful hour 
Rang out 
We learned to say: 
We will not be lost 
In the bloody game of human history . 
No! no! We will not be forever lost. 
We shall have victory! 
Victory of conscience and of free thought! 
Nor will we, 
For the sake of degenerates 
Of the past in search of 'sanctity'
Wallow again into the mire of misery 
And return once more to our sad lament, 
Our monotonous lifeless lament of bondage, 
And be but an irritation in the human brain.
We, the sons of the new age, 
With our all-consuming ardour, 
Will take up new battles 
And sacrifice ourselves for victory .

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## SUPERSTAR_N1

Fragment 


On the mercy of the merciless 
The little beggar survived. 
His life ran its course 
In dirty streets, In dark comers, 
On cold doorsteps, 
Among hypocritical faiths. 
But one day, when the world's pity dried up 
He felt in his breast the stab
Of a new pain -the hatred 
Fired by want 
In the hearts of the poor. 
And -yesterday's little beggar, 
Today became something else. 
Like an avenger of old. 
He conceived an imprecation 
To pronounce on the world. ..
His throat strained 
To bring out the word 
Which his rage had stifled 
And which died on his lips. .. 
But speechless he sat there, 
At the comer of the street, 
The wheels of passing cars
Quickly ran over 
And. ..silenced him.

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## SUPERSTAR_N1

New spirit 


Eagle with a broken wing! Oh, wounded soul! 
Groaning with the undiluted pain of your tormented breast! 
Oh, suffering soul, sacrificed on a new altar, 
Cry of the poor, of a brother in agony. 


Eagle with a broken wing! Oh, soul in anguish!
Stand up! Stand proud like a noble lord, 
The golden sun on your brow, the azure sky in your eye.
Resist! Cry out your misery -you still have the strength. 


Oh, poor tender dove! Harbinger of the new ideal, 
Pull the arrow from the wound and fly again 
Above the storms of life, whispering kindly words of comfort, 
Heal the wounds of those in want and give them hope in life. 


But silence, the stricken soul is silent in affliction,
Grieving in self-pity ..., oh, what bitterness! 
It looks at a suffering world, looks at its wounds 
And sheds a sparkling tear. ..alas, a star has died.

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