IRMA KURTI is an Albanian poet, writer, lyricist, journalist, and translator and has been writing since she was a child. She is a naturalized Italian and lives in Bergamo, Italy. All her books are dedicated to the memory of her beloved parents, Hasan Kurti and Sherife Mezini, who have supported and encouraged every step of her literary path. Kurti has won numerous literary prizes and awards in Albania, Italy, Switzerland, USA, Philippines, Lebanon and China. She was awarded the Universum Donna International Prize IX Edition 2013 for Literature and received a lifetime nomination as an Ambassador of Peace by the University of Peace, Italian Switzerland. In 2020, she became the honorary president of WikiPoesia, the encyclopedia of poetry. In 2023 she was awarded a Career Award from the Universum Academy Switzerland. Irma Kurti is a member of the jury for several literary competitions in Italy. She is also a translator for the Ithaca Foundation in Spain. Irma Kurti has published more than 100 works, including books of poetry, fiction and translations. She is one of the most translated and published Albanian poets. Her books have been translated and published in 20 countries.

With A Child’s Eyes

I want to see the world with a child’s eyes 
almond-shaped, clear, limpid, and innocent:
a meadow where people and flowers grow,
where hunger, poverty, and evil are absent.


I want to see the world with a child’s eyes, 
feel caressed by my dreams’ incantation,
be able to touch the horizon with one hand
and reach the stars using only a ladder.


I don’t want to see the world with my own 
eyes. They’ve seen too much, they see the 
universe behind a thick permanent haze.
Immersed in tears that never dry.

Friendships

Friendships that are bound and 
unbound, like the laces of shoes,
leaving you in the midst of
the street, feeling uneasy.


You bend over to fix them,
and a moment later you realize
that it’s better not to trust them
and barefoot continue on your path.

I Cry At Night . . .

I cry when nobody sees me,
when the darkness of the sky
slightly touches my soul,
turning it into ice.


I don’t want to bother you with 
tears; yours are like a torrent.
When sadness follows you like 
a shadow, a sole ray of sunshine 
cannot warm you up.


So I chose the night’s silence,
the darkness, that scary mystery,
confiding in it my inner secrets,
my anxiety, my thrills or sadness.