on subjectivity

nothing interesting in the movement of hands,
only in what made them tremble, dance.
or the feet, 
the eyes, 
the lips, 
the head, 
the arms, 
the legs, 
the neck, 
the chest;
the only interesting thing in them,
was what picked their interest.

Kushtrim Thaqi - Prishtina


I was left out, broken car.
(broken by me)
broken by my need to feel more than just metallic skin.

Kushtrim Thaqi - Painting


truth– but truth was nothing more than what it was decided upon,
nothing more than the shadow of an imaginary shape made of dust
leaving specks of dust for a being made of dust to chase.
and we fell, all of us! – each carrying a rock the size of an ant
screaming and yelling,
“I have it, I have what you all lack!”

Kushtrim Thaqi - Lamp


free to choose:
to stay, to leave,
free to break our necks…
all the beauty, all the strength, all the stress
and passion of every decision
lies in us;
and that’s enough to inspire all poetry on earth.