Birkirkara, Malta

Organizer: Therese Pace

Contact: sampei@onvol.net

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Logo of the Maltese Poets’ Association                                                                                  Event poster

 

Same as last year, we, members of the Maltese Poetry Association showed our commitment towards a change for the better in our environment by holding a session of poetry reading. This was held in conjunction with the other 115 countries and 800 events held in the rest of the world who, like  us, put in their cents worth towards the cause.  Whilst other countries added other generes like theatre and painting, we preferred to focus more on poetry and music. We held ours on the 28th at the Main Hall of the Birkirkara local council who  generously lent us their premises to be able to keep up our work towards this cause. The vibes were good, the readers prepared, the music related to the theme. The event started with the President, Charles Magro’s speech explaining the aim of the organisers and the importance to save our environment and keep it healthy socially and politically. Peace is the all important ingredient for harmony in the workplace, the home, and the country and added that he was happy that the Maltese Poets Association was adding its name to  the list of participating countries since everyone had a duty to promote peace. Several poems in Maltese and English were read with musical  intervals provided by Analise Schiriha who sang Vacanze Romane, Pod Moskovniye Vechera, Nella Fantasia and Running. The event ended with a picture of all the poets together and a little reception for the poets to socialize in a healthy environment. We hope that our aim is reached through literature and until then our commitment remains firm and forthwith. Many thanks to all who participated.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Association’s President, Mr Charles Magro addressing the audience.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The poets present.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ms Miriam Ellul, our compare.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ms Analise Schiriha, our singer for the night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mr Salv Sammut reading his poem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mr Omar Seguna during his reading

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mr Patrick Sammut, Vice President

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mr Godwin Cini

 

 

 

 

 

Group photo

 

 

U ALLA ĦARES ’Il BARRA  MIT-TIEQA

Salv Sammut  (2008)

 

 

U Alla ħares ’il barra mit-tieqa

tat-tabernaklu nfinit u divin

waqt li titwila ta lil galaksija

fit-tidwira stellari ġos-smewwiet.

 

Infirxet ħarstu fuq dinja kaħlana

u ra l-umanità f’konflitt qerried.

Għaddielu l-ħsieb jekk għandux b’nefħa waħda

mill-univers itajjar dil-pjaneta.

 

Imbagħad ra x-xemx tiela’ ħamra mix-xefaq

fuq baħar nir fi kristalli leqqiena;

il-mewġ ileqq f’esmeraldi fiddiena

huwa w jofroq mix-xtajta kennija;

il-weraq aħdar tas-siġar jitħarrku

donnhom isellmu ’l għodwa ġdida tbakkar

maż-żiffa ħelwa li stenbħet bikrija.

Intebaħ bl-ajkla tmattar ftit ġwinħajha

Fuq il-quċċata tal-muntanja għolja;

il-gawwija għarriexa fuq il-mewġ;

il-qroll sabiħ fil-qiegħ tal-oċejani;

l-għasfur tal-bejt itir ifittex loqma;

u r-rożinjol iferraħ bl-għana tiegħu;

Quddiemu deher l-iljun jistira ġismu;

il-ġiraffa fil-għoli tmattar għonqha;

il-kelb iħuf, jiġri wara qattus;

u l-fenek jaħrab beżgħan mill-ballottra.

 

U meta Alla ra dan kollu, tbissem

u lissen, li dan kien sewwa-w xieraq.

Ħaseb li għal dawn biss, hu ma jonfoħx

dik in-nefħa li ttajjar il-pjaneta

minn dik il-galaksija.

 

 

TNABAR

(Kantaliena tal-oppressati)

Therese Pace

 

Isktu, tnabar, isktu

mir-ritmi tal-ġewwieni

katarsi m’hemmx għalikom

f’dal-kalzri tal-ġejjieni.

 

Tliġġmu, tnabar, tliġġmu

leħenkom għoddu fnieni

jinkini u jittantani.

Xejn biss hemm jistennieni.

 

Battu, tnabar, battu

ħlewwitkom mhix għalija

għalija dil-kundanna,

dir-rifsa: il-mewt bikrija.

 

Tħannu, tnabar, tħannu

fil-friex li tħejji ċ-ċaħda;

jeħtieġ li l-ħolm jintesa’

u jgħib sal-inqas waħda.

 

Ilbtu, tnabar, ilbtu

imbikkma mit-theddida

biex forsi tnabar qalbi

isibu paċi ġdida.

 

Orqdu, tnabar, orqdu

minn ħabbkom agunija,

l-artal mixgħul bit-tniebri,

il-vittma ġa mħejjija.

 

Ibku, tnabar, ibku

lill-qabar ta’ ġo fija,

‘l-ispirtu fgat ġo demmu

u l-irmied tal-poeżija!

 

 

Mewġ Lubien

John Mallia

 

Il-mewġ lubien tela’ jinbixli sieqi

biex jistedinni nqum min-ngħas ħalliem

li mexxa bla waqfien it-tmun ta’ ħajti

kif jibqa’ jagħmel sa taż-żmien it-tmiem.

 

Ħelu ħelu ħallejt il-friex ħamrani

sa ntlaqt mistrieħ fuq baħar żaqqu ratba,

u smajt mill-żdid fil-labirint ta’ moħħi

dik l-għanja li bexxqet ta’ qalbi x-xatba.

 

Ċafċaft ‘il barra qadfa wara qadfa,

fittixt niltaqa’ ma’ xbihat tfuliti,

u rajthom resqin lejja mewġa mewġa,

il-jiem l’ għaddejt fin-nisġa ta’żgħożiti.

 

Rajt ħlejjaq sbieħ rekbin fuq dniefel bojod

deħlin imlebbta lejn ramliet dehbin;

laqgħuhom żgħażagħ somor jarmu s-saħħa,

magħhom imxew id f’id f’triq id-destin.

 

Rajt ramel jidfen xi tamiet bikrija

li xemx qerrieda nixxfet bla ma bkiet;

jinqasmu rajt fuq xfar ta’ blat iniggeż,

il-qlub mużugħa li batew fis-skiet.

 

B’għajnejja mdemmgħa b’melħ ir-raxx leqqieni,

għaddast dirgħajja tqal f’baħar xejn bnin,

sakemm wasalt u tlajt fuq ċagħak sewdieni

xħin ballun aħmar nar ix-xemx bdiet tnin.

 

Intlaqt mifni sa rajt dell ħajti jgħosfor

fi ħbub iroxxu t-tama tal-żejjien;

u l-mewż lubien tela’ jinbixli sieqi,

stedinni tal-ħolm nitlaq l-isqaqien.

 

 

 

 

LIS-SULTAN TAL-PAĊI

Joseph Bonnici

 

 

Twelidt sultan iżda fqir,

mhux ta’ l-art imma tal-Ġenna;

dan ingħata lilek dmir,

li minnek il-Missier stenna.

 

 

Ma giex hawn biex jigwerra,

iżda biex isalva lill-ġnus,

biex sliem fostna jitferra’,

u lejn ftehim in-nies issus.

 

 

Ġejt hawn biex toħloq kalma,

ħalli l-għaqda tikber bil-kwiet;

biex b’kelmtek lilna mgħallma,

jitneħħa għawġ li ġab l-inkwiet.

 

 

Mibgħut għalina b’wegħda,

ħalli tkun għalina ta’ ġid,

billi tgħinna bla heda,

nitolbu lill-Missier is-sid.

 

 

Il-paċi ġejt biex twassal,

u tiġdid għalhekk jinbeda;

tagħlim tiegħek ridt tfassal,

biex mill-qerq in-nies tinfeda.

 

 

Għax ħabbejtna bniedem sirt,

biex ittemm il-ġlied bejnietna;

iċċekkint biex ħażen ħfirt,

u b’hekk nodfa minn dnubietna.

 

 

Għalhekk int milqugħ fostna,

għaliex iġġorr l-hena miegħek;

l’int magħna huwa gostna,

għax timlina bil-ferħ tiegħek.

 

 

Bombi

Joseph Sciberras (B’Kara)

 

Niżlin,

dejjem niżlin

f’qillithom merħijin

il-bombi qerridin

u qattelin…

Dejjem niżlin

imwaddba mingħajr rażan fuq xulxin

mill-aħwa miġġildin.

Imbikkmin

f’qoxrithom imdaħħlin

iħarsu l-meħlusin

u jilmħu ‘l-għeżież tagħhom

midrubin,

imbiċċrin,

maqtulin,

u d-djar tagħhom

meqrudin.

 

Id-demm

sar semm

lid-dinja mela bl-hemm

u ta’ kull ħin

joqtol lil ħuh Abel

Kajjin.

 

 

Il-Ħajja, l-Idejn u l-Ħuta

Emmanuel Attard Cassar

 

 

Il-Paċi hi l-ħajja nnifisha.

Il-ħajja bla paċi x’inhi

jekk mhux il-mewt,

jekk mhux it-telfien?

Bla paċi n-nifs tal-ħajja jinqered.

Bla paċi jitlef għaqlu l-moħħ.

 

Il-paċi hi par idejn

li joffru milli għandhom

u meta jirċievu jaqsmu.

U ma jridux jieħdu biex jinvestu.

Iridu biss

il-ħtieża tal-lum.

 

Il-paċi hi par idejn beżlin, għaqlin u altrwisti.

Il-paċi hi xogħol.

Il-paċi hi għaraq, mhux kliem,

paroli għal udjenza.

Il-paċi hi prinċipju

miksub bis-sagrifiċċju.

 

Il-paċi hi bħal ħuta mlewwna u sabiħa

li trid l-ilma ta’ madwarha biex ma tinqeridx.

Kultant l-ilma jiddardar

kultant jiksaħ, kultant jisħon.

Kultant jevapora u jiżi lura bħala xita.

Kultant iħossu taħt periklu

ta’ xi bomba li weħidha tisparixxi l-ilma kollu.

Il-paċi tibża mix-xbieki qarrieqa

li jistgħu jaħtfuha.

 

Il-paċi f’idejna.

Il-paċi hi l-ilma tal-ħajja.

Il-paċi hi frażli daqs ħuta.

 

 

 

DESERT WINDS

 

Godwin Cini

 

The tortuous winds are blowing,

Cold from the southern lands,

Shuttering violently,

Conveying the desert sands.

 

The gusty winds are blowing,

Destroying all that lasts,

It cries loud for the future,

A change moving so fast.

 

The thunder winds are blowing,

The windmill of revolution,

Changing the course of history,

Searching for a solution,

 

The wind is out for weeping,

Striking in the dark,

Busting the air all over,

Leaving along its mark.

 

To where is this wind heading?

Will ever this night end?

The world is anxiously watching,

Attentively concerned.

 

IL-FRIEGĦI TAS-SLIEM

Marlene Saliba Toledo

 

Friegħi taż-żebbuġ

miġburin madwar emblema

ta’ dinja globalizzata,

jinqalgħu minn posthom,

jittajru bħall-ideali,

jitkarrbu, jitkaxkru,

mat-tvenvin ta’ riefnu rrabbjat,

ta’ progress stinat, għajjien,

bin-nuqqas ta’ Sliem.

 

Tinstema’ din l-eleġija,

ukoll mill-gawwi u t-tajr abjad safi,

jitħabat, jissielet għall-ideali,

’il fuq mill-mewġ setgħan, felħan,

wara dulluvju t’argumenti, konferenzi,

wegħdiet fil-vojt li ma jaqtgħu qatt

u jkissru t-tamiet għas-sliem max-xatt.

 

U f’rokna weħidha, imbikkija,

bħal fil-pitturi tal-Karavaġġjo,

imdawra, maħkuma fi drama imdemmija,

il-Paċi ddoqq fuq vjolinċell kiebi,

imħabbta, titkarrab, tixxennaq,

imdawra għalxejn bil-friegħi magħquda,

iżejnu għalxejn emblema ta’ sliem,

għax mill-qiegħ qalb il-bniedem,

ħierġa ferita t’ebusija akkanita,

li titfejjaq biss

b’rispett reċiproku,

b’maħfra sinċiera

u b’solidarjetà imbierka bl-indiema.

 

VIEN NATALE!

Maurice Mifsud Bonnici

 

Vien Natale!

Vien tale quale!

Vien Gesù piangente

per consolare la gente –

raggio di sol ridente!

Vien per i bimbi d’Africa,

denudati come l’Antartica!

Bimbi affamati,

anche loro nati

in un mangiatoia

ma senza ricevere loro

ne incense ne oro,

soltanto mirra

per profumare la bara.

Vien per i popoli interrati

dal terrorismo sciupati.

Vien a vedere

ciò che dà il mondo crudele!

Bimbi morendo,

con mosche agglomerando

le sponde degli occhi

e delle labbra

come la sabbia

prolifera la spiaggia.

 

DACHAU 14/08/2012 9.45-10.45 a.m.

(Translated from the Italian Original on 8/09/2012)

 

An unplanned visit

this at Dachau.

Heavy air

hangs from a

hundred thousand cypress trees.

I pass from the main gate

white as a ghost

and in front of me opens

a wide space, cemetery like,

a monument that shouts in silence:

Shame! Shame! Shame!

Pain! Pain! Pain!

Peace! Peace! Peace!

 

My footsteps echo the sound

of past footsteps

which tread on these dismal corridors

and on the pebbles, millions of them,

I’ve read the names of millions of unfortunate souls.

Today I am only a passer-by

alive and kicking;

yesterday one got in here but not out!

 

I walk head bowed

I breathe slowly as a sign of respect

I want to cry, despair…

Every pebble has a name and a voice

whispering  words and prayers

exhorting today’s mankind

to remember, not forget,

create a future canvas in colour

no more in grey and black.

 

I wish that the assassin chimneys

emit rainbows,

no more ashes and black smoke!

 

IL-PAĊI

Charles Magro

Forsi din hi kimera

illi timla l-atmosfera

hekk kif tiftaħ il-purtiera

w tidħol xemx t’għodwa sinċiera?

 

Tgħid dan huwa xi trofew,

xhieda turi kemm jiswew

il-konflitti li feġġew,

illi qatt, u xejn, sewwew?

 

Qisha din biċċa qubbajt

illi naħtaf, kieku stajt,

biex nagħtiha lil min rajt;

’hekk f’elf biċċa jien qattajt.

 

Din xi tkun? Kulħadd iridha.

Tgħid għax ngħixu lkoll f’taħwida

li twassalna ġo tagħsida,

li għal ħafn’hi ħajja ġdida?

 

Dat-teżor ilna nfittxuh;

qlibna d-dinja ħa nsibuh.

W’qafna qatt ngħidu “rriduh”;

’mma tgħallimna kif nagħżluh?

 

Kull tfittxija tittradina,

u bil-għatx dejjem tħallina.

Riżultat aħjar tagħtina

Jekk infittxu l-ewwel fina.

 

 

 

 XEWQAT

Joseph Sciberras (Ħ’Attard)

 

 

Il-bniedem jgħix bit-tama                      F’xi  rokna nara warda,

ta’ ħolm, ta’ ħsibijiet.                             sbuħija  tal-ħolqien.

Xewqat li minn ċkunitu                         Nilmaħ qronfol mill-isbaħ,

jgħaddulu bil-mijiet.                              mimlija kollha  lwien.

 

Xewqat, xewqat mill-isbaħ                    U nara l-ġnien ta’ xewqti

ta’ dawn it-tfal ċkejknin                         mimli kollu bin-nies,

li tant jixtiequ jsiru                                 ta’ razez differenti,

x’ħin jikbru, ferħanin.                            bla konfini u bla qies.

 

Tara xewqat l-adulti                               Kulħadd ferħan u jidħak

jaħsbu fi bżonn kulħadd.                       jieħdu b’idejn xulxin

Jixtiequ ssir ġustizzja                            għax għandna Missier wieħed

sabiex ma jbati ħadd.                              li Hu  bil-wisq ħanin.

 

Jixtiequ jkunu huma                               Nara xi tifel Lhudi

tal-ewwel, fuq quddiem                         maġenb Palestinjan,

biex jagħmlu dak li jistgħu                    it-tnejn jilagħbu f’daqqa,

biex ngħixu wkoll fis-sliem.                  it-tnejn bil-wiċċ daħkan.

 

U din hi x-xewqa tiegħi:                        Nara  dal-ġnien jinbidel

Li ngħix ħajti ġo ġnien,                          ġo dinja  kollha  ferħ

fejn nimraħ qalb il-fjuri                          fejn wieħed jgħix bi kwietu

u qatt ma jgħaddi ż-żmien.                     u  fejn isib  is-serħ.

 

Inħares lejn is-siġar,                               Din  hi ix-xewqa tiegħi,

mimlija ward u ż’har                              għalkemm tinsab ‘il b’għod.

u vaska kollha ħdura,                              Ejjew  inkunu  aħna

miksija b’ilma ċar.                                  nibdew  bil-mod  il-mod.

 

 

 

TRIBUTE TO A TURTLE ON MATURA BEACH

Jonathan Balzan

 

I enjoyed you below the stars in pitch darkness

phenomenal reptile of ancient,

touching your spine, the rudder that divides waters

which drag you to and fro

while swimming relentlessly, no moaning and groaning,

in waves raging today, serene tomorrow.

Your weeping eyes in silent suffering

fighting it out against the  blowing dust,

your bitten flippers and heavy breathing

procreate pity before an infinite ocean.

Your body rinsed by sand

laying eggs with motherly pain,

deprived of  seeing your offspring live

as even upon deliverance,

at night you must retrace your steps,

land is not your kingdom,

to the  mysterious ocean and its deep waves

embarking on your next journey.

So you live and reproduce but

do not refrain from visiting this nesting beach

as on the day you cease to mate

plight will strike your generation’s offsprings.

Until another deliverance day, if  ever I see you again,

will I myself watch and be your nest’s guardian angel.

 

I shed tears as the last wave engulfs you out of my sight

remembering the last time I kneeled on your shell

before a shining moon  called you back in the wild.

In my thoughts of you as a turtle of gallant wisdom,

patience and beauty, nobility and strength,

I beg you keep alert from famished nets

as they strive to obstruct your way ashore.

In every night stars lighted the Milky Way

pointing out the path amidst stems in sand

for you to choose a suitable patch as a fitting nest,

like a tired pregnant mother’s breathing,

eager to give birth to the child she bears.

 

 

How I longed to scrap the wrinkles off your shoulders,

and get carried away in your underworld!

You have become another entrusted lover of mine,

And I shall cuddle you in my heart from far across.

From here in my country when the night closes in

Shall I remember our deeds with beam,

In my room your sculptured token  I do treasure

As I hail you o queen of Matura with dignified  pleasure.

 

 

 

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