Ermira

Mitre Kokomani

QUI EST LE POÈTE?

Ermira Mitre Kokomani is a poet, essayist, and novelist who hails from Albania but now resides in New Jersey. Her poetry has been featured in international and national poetry publications including The POET’s anthologies, Live Encounters, Kistrech Poetry Festival , Mediterranean Poetry, or Montclair Write Group.

Ermira is an active member of multiple poetry collectives across New Jersey, New York, and Paris. She is the author of "Soul's Gravity," in Albanian, and is currently juggling several literary projects in English.



À propos

« Poetry is a capricious, sophisticated form of art that reveals the hidden beauty and coarseness of life through fine words. It is the highest form of artistic expression of the human conscience and spiritual transcendence, as a testimony of human revolution through ages. 

The poets look at the yellow moon, the sunrise and sunset; they listen to the birds’ songs, the roaring of winds, the perseverance of ocean waves, the exuberance of waterfalls, and moreover deep into their soul and they discover that the energy that moves in all these vivid pictures is like poetry. Poets’ muse derives from this immense physical and spiritual wellspring. 

As long as this mysterious system that moves within the physical and human nature remains poetically intact, so will literary poetry, as its assertion. Muse is the music of the soul, and poetry is the harp that delivers it. »

«Phoenix»

Spreading wings, vision in sky,

at night burning Sun in fire.

Whereabouts, in route so high?

Where will you pour blazing fire?

Why wooing around my bed,

once, long night starts at twilight?

Why releasing heat ahead,

which is scorching at midnight?

What a wind brought you so close,

firebrands to ignite withal?

"To give light o to my goddess,

opening gates towards a soul.”

Hear you drudge through the rainstorm,

through the fog and through the clouds,

Phoenix from ashes rose on,

fire to bed, why come around?

Lightning from a distant road,

wrestling far, I feel about.

hands like armor crossed upon,

"Let me live, don’t burn me out!"

Mythical bird risen from ashes,

blasting spirit, gasps in chest,

"Let me kiss your starry eyes! then,

God’s will, let me fall at best!"

At times soft, at times in craze,

Pyrrhus, Caesar can’t acquaint,

fear does grip me at midnight,

is he devil or a saint?

Only God keep secrets safe,

why so close in dream you turned.

soul admiring, guiltless slave,

every bird in love gets burned!

Ermira Mitre Kokomani