other-

Nese bota do ishte me te vertete e rrumbullaket atehere perse njerzit kerkoje qe te arrijne majen e saj, padyshim qe forma e globit a nji krijese e mbinatyrshme per te i kujtue njerzimit qe kurre te mos vete-kenaqet **********************Gjergj Lacuku************************* Me pershkrue Ameriken a si me u gjet mbrenda nji pylli te dendun me peme shume te nalta; mundesh me ju preke vetem trungun. *****************Gjergj Lacuku*************************** C'po ndodh me ty Shqipni C'po ndodh prap me ty Shqipni? me shpresat e andrrat e nji kombi? po luhet, po luhet me ty Perseri ah, mjer i drejti e lum hori a mbush pushteti me hipokrite qe vec emnin kane Shqiptar mafjoz,politikane e bandite secili sa ma shume me marr'

Ku je

Odisea i kohnave tona Ku je sonte dashuni? m'duket qe s't'kam pa qe nga koha e Odisese; mallkue kto ujna kto dete e oqeane qe na ndajne ne mes; -pa shprese mos vall' pritja e pafundme asht e vetmja bark shpetimi nga permbtytja e lot've qe na solli mergimi. Farewell Shkoder Farewell, my darling Shkoder cradle of my joy and happiness will I see you again, I wonder or be lost without trace? I have roamed many lands like a man with no home but you,my Shkoder, are always in my heart and in my soul there are cities of wonders like Rome, Paris and New-York to me , you darling Shkoder are the best in the world.

Dimen ne Florida

Thojne n'Florida nuk ban dimen as ka bore as akullnaj' por pa Ty moj lulja ime Dimen asht qe kur kam ardh' le ta dije pra e gjithe bota se pa Ty pranver' nuk vika drandofillet qe ka Shkodra jo nuk gjinden ne Forida

My Christmas in childhood & today

As we grow up, our lives change and with that our thoughts, dreams and future.However, what remains still the same are those unforgetable moments of our childhood days.What I remember the best and the most are my childhood Christmases.Therefore,going back to those memories, I see that my Christmas of today is different from that of my childhood in various ways. First of all, I grew up in Albania, a country where religion was outlawed;therefore,celebrating Christmas was not easy.Nevertheless, I remember Christmas time as a time of family hapiness.My parents tried to do anything they could to make my Christmas a time of joy and pride, embodying in me the true meaning of my own religion which was outlawed by the communist government. In contrast, today I am able to celebrate my Christmas freely here in the USA. It gives one a great joy, regardles of their religion, when hearing people saying to each-other "Merry Christmas". In my childhood, there was no Santa Clause or any Christmas decoration of any kind. While in America or in other parts of the free world, Christmas captures the attention of everyone,in my childhood Albania there was nothing that would remind me of Christmas.Since religion was abolished,there was nothing about Christmas,neither in the media nor in the city streets of my country.The only sing and atmosphere of Christmas during my life in Albania was inside the house because it was highly risky to celebrate it publicly.Also, I remember that I could only exchange Christmas gifts with my family members, relatives and close friends. Another way that makes my Christmas of today so different from those of my childhood is that I am away from my family and friends. Although I do have everything to make my Christmas the best time of the year, I still miss that simple joy I had when I was with my family. In contrast of my childhood, the Christmas of today seems to go by so quickly that soon is forgotten by the fast pace of my life. Regardless of the differences in my childhood and today, Christmas will always remain the best time of the year, a time that brings with it happiness, joy and inspiration. In one way or another, Christmas reminds us who we are and serves as a revival of our own human values

I Burgosuni

January 17 I Burgosuni Bie shi,gjimon stuhia ushton moti ane e mban mbyllun n'burg me shkon rinia lidhun n'pranga duer e kamb' dhe nji zhurme kur degjohet me trondit, me mbush me ankth shpirt e zemer m'dritherohet prej torturave qe fund s'kan hapet dera, hyn xhelati me nji mask qe mban ne kry ferkon duert porsi Pilati si guxon me u quejt njeri mure t'errta ly me gjak nji errsine plo trishtim ah, moj dere; kurr mos u hap! bahu rrase e vorrit tim. I kushtohet gjithe atyne qe hoqen kalvarin ne burgjet e tmerrshme komuniste vetem se kerkonin ate cka natyra na kishte dhurue: Lirine, te drejtat themelore dhe te pamohueshme, por ne nji sistem te kuq sadist ne jetonim ne mbretnine e Had-it.

Syte e Pagjume-The sleepless eyes

.. Nen tingun melodioz te valeve Atlantikase per ty e dashtun sonte do kendoj do ta derdhi shpirtin tim ne pentagramin e valeve, Merre!-atje ne bregun tjeter prej vetmie me ngrotesine e ketyre fjaleve nderto nje kasolle dashurie si shtegtarin e pastrehe shpirtin tim strehoje... .... me valet e oqeanit me duket se po vjen Ti si nimfe, si pellumb oh,sa te doja te te kisha prane ne netet me uragane te Florides te me i qetesoje syte e pagjume October,1999

PER TY-FOR YOU

Per Ty nga thellesite e shpirtit tim buroje fjalet ma t'pastra Per Ty syte e mi jane diell qe shndrrit ne ditet ma t'vranta Per Ty qenja ime bahet oaze me hije ne Saharane e vetmise Per Ty zemra ime kthehet ne burim dashurie per te ta shue etjen e mangesise Per Ty zema ime i ka hapur dyert e saj qe gjithmone mbrenda te te mbaj June 2000

Lot i ndarjes

Per ty mendoj e dashtun n'skaj te botes ne mergim prej vetmise zemerplasun si mund t'gjej valle gezim? S'i harroj dot syte e tuaj qe aq ambel me shikonin "mos me lene keshtu te vuaj" ato sy mua me thonin kur erdh' koha qe u ndam' s'doja vetes me i besue dy-tri pika n'faqe m'ran' perzie bashke met lot' e tue

RINAS, OCTOBER 1999

Emigranti e Vendlindja

Kam me u tret' n'kurbet te zi kam me vujt' me kja si fmi por un' kurr s'kam per t'harrue O vendlindje, toke e bekue Nga Giorgio chi va piano-piano,va sano e va lontano

Nata e arratisjes nga Shqipnia

Poezi Nata e ikjes Mora rrugen e largimit Ne nje natë qe binte shi, Me zgjidh prangat e mjerimit Qe duer-kambe mi kishte nxi. Tue kalue telat me gjemba Edhe andrrat paten frike. Nder këto tela vete vdekja Bante roje nate e dite. Ne mesjeten komuniste Per ne lulet s'kishin erë. E ne heshtje zemra thërriste- Per pak drite ne ket' sketerrë. Per mue ikja s'ishte kange Qe te këndohej nder gëzime, Por ajo mbeti plage qe me djeg e me jep dhimbje.

Life-la vita-Jeta

JETA(MENDIME) Jeta vazhdon pa marre parasysh ate qe iken dhe ate qe do vije.Jeta nuk njeh kufij,as natyror as njerzor.Ajo asht e paligjshme dhe mund te baje cdo gja pa ma te voglen frike.Ajo mund te te coje ne majat ma te nalta te lumturise dhe mbrenda nji sekonde mund te te shndrroje ne qenjen ma te dhimbshme.Ajo nuk njeh meshire dhe as njianeshmeri,ajo asht e drejte dhe e padrejte. Ajo te merr ne krahet e saj, te ledhaton, te ngreh lart dhe ne momentin qe ti qesh dhe te mbushen syte me lot gezimi,ajo te leshon dhe te perplase ne humnerat e saj a thue se ti nuk ke ekzistue kurre.Ka pasun raste qe ne momentin ma te kandshem te qetesise shpirtnore dhe mendore,bash njatehere kur je kene tuj pi kupen e kenaqesise, ashtu paprite te ka godite me dallget e saj ma te furishme dhe ta ka trete kupen nga dora.Kjo pra a jeta.Ajo nuk ka moshe.

Te vorri i Babes Nji grusht dhe mbi vorrin tand po ta hjedhi lehte-lehte ah! ky dhe kenka i rand' ma i rand' se i zi kurbet Erdha sot un fluturim per me t'thane lamtumire edhe pse jam larn n'mergim prap do kthehem,prap do vij Un' e di se s'kam per t'pa dersa t'jem gjalle mbi dhe shi i madh kur ka per t'ra dojsha t'bahem per Ty streh kur do kthehem nuk e di kushedi se c'kohe do jete por me vrap do vij te Ti pa ba zhurme, lehte-lehte E prane deres se perjetshme nuk e di se c'ka do gjej bar te gjelber mbush me lule apo ferra tej per tej? Larg tokes nane Ishte nji dite vjeshte fund Nandori 2006.Qielli i New-York-ut ishte i turbullt dhe majat e nalta te gradacelave tue perfshie edhe State Empire Building sikur kishin humb nen mjegullen e dendun.Shikimi i Zefit ishte i tretun ne vorbullen e mendimve qe e mundonin pa pushim.Kete radhe Ai po nisej per ne aeroportin JF Kennedy,jo si heret e tjera tan gezim, e shend e vere ,tue mbajte n'dore kafen e tij te preferume nga "Starbucks". Kete here ishte ndyshe. Ai po rrinte ne heshtje dhe vetem zhurma e trafikut Njujorkez e bante nga nji here te fliste si percart. "Move it, move it" donte te thoshte me nxitim. Indiani, shoferi i taksise, nji buure i vogel me emnin Patel e pyeti Zefin me nji theks karakteristik indian,"Where are you from, sir?" dhe zgjati qafen e tij te holle ne pasqyre per te pa klientin e tij. "I am from Albania" u pergjigj Zefi. Indiani e kuptoj nga qendrimi dhe zani i pasagjerit te tij se dicka nuk ishte ne rregull dhe u mundua qe ta fuste Zefin ne bisede. E cuditshme kjo Amerika-vazhdoi ai. Ju Shqiptar e un' Indian takohna ketu n'mes t'Amerikes. Asht vend i mire Amerika, por pak e larget e sidomos per ne Indianet. Na duhen dy dite per me mbrrite ne vendin tone.Por asnjihere nuk bahen te tana te mirat bashke-vazhdoi Indiani. Vitin e kaluem Nana jeme ndrroi jete e nuk mujta me shkue ne kohen e duhun per varrimine saj dhe me ka mbet marak qe do me mundoje tane jete teme. Ne kete moment, Zefi harroi cdo gja dhe u prek shume nga fjalet e Indianit te qete dhe vuni re se si do pika loti rrodhen poshte faqeve te indianit me emnin Patel.Zefi u mallengjye nga kjo koincidence e cuditshme dhe me vedi tha se te paktem un' po mbrrij ne kohe per te marre pjese ne varrimin e babes tem, por nuk mujti te i permbante lotet.Ma ne fund u gjend te aeroporti.

Biografi

Biography Gjergj Luigji Lacuku was born in Albania in 1971.His childhood and teenage years years were spent under the most repressive regime in Europe.His country was ruthlessly governed by a Stalinist style, carried even farther by the tiranny of Hoxha's regime.However, Gjergj never gave up his hope and dreams that one day his beloved country will be free from the iron fist of communism.Gjergj was determined to do his best in a society where its doors were closed for the members of dissident families.In school, he tried for excellence and soon excelled everyone.Seeing no future of whatsoever in his homeland, he embarked on e very dangerous mission. In November 1990, he escaped from Albania as the communist regime was doing everything possible to hold on to its power.Passing the border was a matter of life and death, but this time life had guided Gjergj in its path to save him from the murderers of a bloody regime.Gjergj always carries in his memory those brave people who dared to challenge the red beasts.He thanks God that made his escape possible and with deep respect remembers those fallen heroes that never made it on the other side. In Gejrgji's mind there was only one place; "Eldorado- La Terra Promessa.Listening to "Voice of America" radio station during the communist reign, played an important role in nourishing him with a great love for American socitey. The day to experience the American dream seemed to close in his horizon.He was amazed that people of different cultures, backgrounds and religions were able to live in peace ,harmony and understanding.Gjergj posesses a great admiration for foreing languages and literature.He is a member of the "International Society of Poets" and the "Albanian-American Writers Association." Since 1994, he lives in Florida and works for Citigroup Company.

poetry

Poetry( In English) Life In Communism We were born in darkness fed in darkness walked in darkness spoke in darkness thought in darkness slept in darkness woke up in darkness lived in darkness died in darkness and survived in darkness... In the Red darkness. This poetry has been selected to be published by the "International Society of Poets" in its antology titled"Immortal Verses" The Escapee (dedicated to those who escaped from tyranical regimes, especailly the ones that lived under the communist system) With a heart divided in two we live in a single world In between, the invisible wall shaken incessantly by the waves of yearning Here is not our place the world is cut in half our voices are not heard, our language?, oh! nobody undersatnds our hearts are in two opposite edges neither sky not earth know their location our hearts belong to a silent world and in its bed they slowly die. This poetry has been published by "International Society of Poets" in "Who is who in Poetry" antology in 2004. March 1997 (My country was on the brink of a civil war as a result of armed uprising of the remnants of the communist regime who managed to take the power on their hands) Why the Sun has become dark? and the Moon sheds no light all the flowers are muorning new-born babies shivering in this March there is no Spring the nightingale is not singing and the flowers have turned pale because death hanging in the air My nation's suffering is too old that no one can really describe my homeland's new turmoil a self-accusation for ingnorance Europians have been appalled watching in disbelief children left with no toys instead, guns, fear and grief.