# Kultura > Letërsia shqiptare > Krijime në gjuhë të huaja >  Nga Autore te Ndryshem

## ChuChu

"THE CINNAMON PEELER"

If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow

Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the procession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon

Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbor to your hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle
You will be known among strangers
as the Cinnamon Peeler's wife.

I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
- your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers...

When we swam once
I touched you in water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
You climbed the bank and said

this is how you touch other women
the grass cutter's wife, the lime burners daughter.
And you stretched your arms
for the missing perfume

and knew

what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of scar

You touched your belly
to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
peeler's wife.
Smell me.

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Michael Ondaatje -  widely known for his book "The English Patient", -  was born in Sri Lanka and later emigrated to Canada.

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## ChuChu

SOFTLY

Softly Baby I'll stop having a thing for you.
Softly I'll try not to call again.
And even if I do, I'll realize
It's not such a good idea.

Softly I'll learn that what I thought was true.
For a soft while I'll be asleep by ten.
I won't look at everything just through your eyes,
And I'll softly try not to see ya.

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## ChuChu

-excerpt from The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran


You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.  

 You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.  

 Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.  

 But let there be spaces in your togetherness, 
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.  

 Love one another, but make not a bond of love: 
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.  

 Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.  

 Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.  

 Sing and dance together and be joyous, 
but let each one of you be alone, 
Even as the strings of a lute are alone 
though they quiver with the same music.  

 Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. 
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.  

 And stand together yet not too near together:  

 For the pillars of the temple stand apart, 
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

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## ChuChu

PAST ONE O'CLOCK

Past one o'clock. You must have gone to bed.
The Milky Way streams silver through the night.
I'm in no hurry; with lightning telegrams
I have no cause to wake or trouble you.
And, as they say, the incedent is closed.
Love's boat has smashed against the daily grind.
Now you and I are quits. Why bother then
to balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts.
Behold what quiet settles on the world.
Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars.
In hours like these, one rises to address
The ages, history, and all creation.

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## ChuChu

YESTERDAY HE STILL LOOKED IN MY EYES

Yesterday he still loked in my eyes, yet
today   his looks are bent aside. Yesterday
he sat there untils the birds began, but
today all those larks are ravens.

Sutpid creature! And you are wise, you
live while I am stunned.
Now for the lament of women in all times:
--- My love, what was it I did to you?

And tears are   water, blood is water,
a woman always washes in blood and tears.
Love is a step mother, and no mother:
then expect no justice or mercy from her.

Ships carry away the ones we love.
Along the white road they are taken away.
And one cry stretches across the earth:
--- My love, what was it I did to you?

Yesterday he lay at my feet. He even
compared me with the Chinese empire! Then
suddenly he let his hands fall open, and 
my life fell out like a rusty kopeck.

A child murderer, before some court
I stand   loathsome and timid I am.
And yet even in Hell I shall demand.
--- My love, what was it I did to you?

I ask this chair. I ask the bed. Why?
Why do I suffer and live in penury?
His kisses stopped. He wanted to break you.
To kiss another girl is their reply.

He taught me to live in fire, he threw me there,
and then abandoned me on steppes of ice.
My love, I know what you have done to me.
--- My love, what was it I did to you?

I know everything! don't argue with me!
I can see now, I'm a lover no longer.
And now I know wherever love holds power
Death approaches soon like a gardener.

It's almost like shaking a tree, in time
some ripe apple comes falling down. So
for everything, for everything  forgive me,
my love whatever it is I did to you.

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## ChuChu

WILD NIGHTS! WILD NIGHTS! 

Wild nights! Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Our Luxury!

Futile the winds
To a heart in port,---
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart.

Rowing in Eden!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
To-night in thee!

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## ChuChu

I LOVE YOU

I love your lips when they're wet with wine 
And red with a wild desire; 
I love your eyes when the lovelight lies 
Lit with a passionate fire. 
I love your arms when the warm white flesh 
Touches mine in a fond embrace; 
I love your hair when the strands enmesh 
Your kisses against my face. 
Not for me the cold, calm kiss 
Of a virgin's bloodless love; 
Not for me the saint's white bliss, 
Nor the heart of a spotless dove. 
But give me the love that so freely gives 
And laughs at the whole world's blame, 
With your body so young and warm in my arms, 
It sets my poor heart aflame. 
So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth, 
Still fragrant with ruby wine, 
And say with a fervor born of the South 
That your body and soul are mine. 
Clasp me close in your warm young arms, 
While the pale stars shine above, 
And we'll live our whole young lives away 
In the joys of a living love.

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## ChuChu

PHENOMENAL WOMAN!

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows that stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
Whgen I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
The palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman,
Phenomenally.
Phenomemanl woman,
That's me.

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## ChuChu

In Memory of M. B. 

Here is my gift, not roses on your grave,
not sticks of burning incense.
You lived aloof, maintaining to the end
your magnificent disdain.
You drank wine, and told the wittiest jokes,
and suffocated inside stifling walls.
Alone you let the terrible stranger in,
and stayed with her alone.

Now you're gone, and nobody says a word
about your troubled and exalted life.
Only my voice, like a flute, will mourn
at your dumb funeral feast.
Oh, who would have dared believe that half-crazed I,
I, sick with grief for the buried past,
I, smoldering on a slow fire,
having lost everything and forgotten all,
would be fated to commemorate a man
so full of strength and will and bright inventions,
who only yesterday it seems, chatted with me, 
hiding the tremor of his mortal pain.

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## ChuChu

BE DRUNK!

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it--it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
     But on what?  Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.
     And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, 
drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you:  "It is time to be 
drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be
continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."

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