Category Archives: Malta

Birkirkara, Malta

ORGANIZER: Therese Pace
DESCRIPTION: Therese Pace with the collaboration of the Maltese Poets Association and the Birkirkara Local Council will be holding a poetry reading event at the Local Council hall in birkirkara on the 24th September. The theme we will be adopting is Peace and Sustainability.





A reminder about the Poetry Reading Session that was published in a major local newspaper.







Therese Pace was the event co-ordinator.   The event was held in conjunction with the Maltese Poets Association.








Group Photo of the poets, singers & musicians who participated in the International Poetry Reading event.

Standing (L to R) Ray Ellul, Maria Luana Debono, Francesco Debono, Marlene Saliba Toledo, Marija Debono, Godwin Cini, John C Sciberras, Charles Magro, Alfred Massa, Raymond Grech, Lino Grech, Omar Seguna.
Sitting (L to R) Miriam Ellul, Ninu Borg, Charles Mifsud, Therese Pace, Salv Sammut, Joseph Sciberras, John Mallia, Carmel G. Cauchi, Frans Borg, Ġorġ Borg.

Mr Alfred Massa, President of the Maltese Poets Association, addressing the participants & the audience at the start of the event.






A Shot of the audience attending the poetry reading session.  Venue was the main hall of the Birkirkara Local Council.






The event was transmitted Live on the Birkirkara community radio, Radio BKR.








Report by local Co-ordinator:

Dear all,

It is so overwhelmingly beautiful to dwell on memories once an event is over and a total success.

Our Malta poetry reading event, forming part of the project 100 Thousand Poets for Change was held in the Main Hall of the Birkirkara Local Council building called the Civic Centre. This event generated quite an interest in the local writing circle and was well attended on the day. It was a full one and a half hours of reading with musical interludes provided by Francesco Debono and Ray Ellul on the guitars while Maria Luana Debono and Miriam Ellul delighted the audience with a moving interpretation of three songs the themes of which dealt with fraternity and peace.  The songs were John Lennon’s Imagine, Pink Floyd’s The Gunner’s Dream and Pete Seeger’s Where have all the flowers gone.  Mr Patrick Sammut, vice-President of the Maltese Poets association and Mario Pace were  in charge of providing the photos for our page. The Association’s President, Alfred Massa brought the event to a start with his compelling address to the audience. He said that the poet is also a prophet in the sense that he teaches with his word and is also the spokesperson for the public. He entreated everyone to speak and work towards peace. The event was ably compered by the Maltese Poets Association’s Secretary  Charles Magro who, during the course of the evening invited the audience to come forward and write in favour of peace since words have been known to be powerful enough to bring about radical changes in many instances in the past. The spoken word travels and enters domains restricted to the public, so it is our duty to see to it that it is put forth.

This event was widely publicised on our Facebook pages, on the local newspapers, on the community radio and on our websites. It was also broadcast live by the Birkirkara community radio station BKR Radio 94.5FM and aired again late at night for the benefit of  those who could not attend.

The atmosphere was relaxed and very informal. Solidarity, sustainability, peace, war, religion, immigration and the joyful pealing of bells were the themes dealt with in a very compelling way by the established  as well as emerging poets who answered our call with pleasure.

We, as Maltese citizens, feel proud to have done our bit in favour of the common good and sincerely hope this collective event, most probably the biggest poetry reading session in history to be carried out in one day, will bear its fruit, and the sooner the better for the world.


Thank you all.


Therese Pace



For the Record-Poets who took Part.


Therese Pace

Alfred Massa

Charles Magro

Patrick Sammut

Charles Mifsud

Miriam Ellul

Raymond Grech

Lino Grech

Carmel G. Cauchi

Ġorġ Borg

Ninu Borg

Frans Borg

Omar Seguna

Salv Sammut

Joseph Sciberras

John C. Sciberras

John Mallia

Godwin Cini

Marlene Saliba Toledo

Marija Debono



Forsi xi darba…



Id-dinja żżomm fuq ħjut irqaq


u ddur u ma tiqafx

għax hemm tfal ċkejknin li ta’ kuljum

joħolmu ħolm l-anġli

jitbissmu b’għajnejhom magħluqin

u minn fommhom qrolla

joħorġu klejmiet ta’ paċi

li jifhmu biss il-ftit

u drabi l-istess tfal ċkejknin

tarahom jitqallbu u jitkagħwġu

ibatu għal waqtiet

jitqabdu mal-forzi tal-ħażen

waqt l–iljieli twal, fis-skiet.


Id-dinja żżomm fuq ħjut irqaq


u ddur u ma tiqafx

għax hemm xjuħ ħbieb is-solitudni

maqfula fi kmajret talbhom

’il bogħod mill-moltitudni

li jqasstu mijiet u mijiet ta’ rużarji

jgħarrqu għajnejhom fuq brevjarji

li llum tgħallmu bl-amment

u jgedwdu bla ma jieqfu

orazzjonijiet u ġakulatorji

hemmhekk fis-skiet li drawh

daqs l-akbar ħabib

u jbatu bla ma nafu mitt elf uġigħ

li ebda duwa ma taf isserraħ.


U intant il-bqija medhija bil-ħan u l-ġlied

bħal xjafek bla mistrieħ nintilfu

fil-labirinti bliet

u drabi, uħud minna, nieqfu għal ftit mumenti

niftakru f’meta konna kuntenti

f’imgħoddi li llum insejna għax infnejna

b’elf tagħbija u nkwiet.


Fejn marret l-innoċenza ta’ meta konna trabi?

Fejn huma ż-żminijiet meta t-talb tagħna kien ħabib?

Qed negħrqu sewwa fil-ħama bla ma nafu

biex forsi, xi darba, inqumu fuq riġlejna,

u nindafu minn dan kollu



Patrick Sammut



…and now follows its translation into English



Maybe some day…

(Translated from the Maltese original by Alfred Palma)


The world hangs on, on wispy threads

invisible to the eye,

rotates incessantly,

for there are children who, day after day,

dream oft angelic dreams,

smile on with sleep-closed eyes

and from their crimson lips

echo sweet words of peace,

which only few can understand;

and these same children can be seen at times

tossing and writhing in the crudest pain,

in intervals of woe

grappling with evil forces

during long nights, in silence all forlorn.


The world hangs on, on wispy threads,

invisible to the eye,

rotates incessantly,

for there are dear old people

friends of sheer solitude,

locked in the tiny confines of their prayers,

far from the multitudes,

reciting holy rosaries by the hundreds,

straining their eyes on prayer books,

which now they know by heart


and murmur on and on

a string of prayers long and short,

there in the silence they have grown

accustomed to as a great friend,

and suffer without knowing pain galore,

which no known medicine can otherwise appease.


And in the meantime

others engage in wickedness and wars,

like evil fiends we’re lost incessantly

in cities much akin to labyrinths,

and oft, a few of us, will stop for a respite

recalling when we knew true happiness,

in days gone by we now almost forgot,

exhausted as we are with troubled loads.


Where is the innocence of our childhood days?

Where are the days when prayer was our friend?

We’re well embroiled in mud unconsciously,

maybe, one day, we’ll rise back on our feet,

and cleanse ourselves of all this muck,



Patrick Sammut








How does one go about the errands of a dreamer?


Often it is tough to crack the  shell to uncover

the kernel cocooning the seed. To create, in between

hiccups, in an intercourse of time and wit, the zygote

of fruition that does not shrivel and die of its defect.


Masters of our decisions we become slaves of luck.

The ripe hour moves fast to overripeness, then decay.

Its veils of opportunity are lifted by good timing,

you seeing the fruit that dangles within reach.


How can one curb his quest for prizes, trusting that

life has its own quaint way of delivering surprises?


Looking at it, the bulk is irresistible, our distance swaying

bridge, and we the lives at risk. Challenge shows its rabid

row of teeth, merciless and brisk, gnawing at the apple

of intrigue to stretch us to our limit, our hunger our plight..


In darkness and alone, we travel every inch of tidal ocean

lifejackets losing bulge, torn sails braving the winds, until,

like Noah after deluge, beleaguered but grateful survivors,

we may finally come forward to embrace the light.



Therese Pace







in his tabernacle

he sets aside a niche

for sacred things and friends

storing memories in rows

like pews inside the church


Then, in his free time

he leafs through all of them

one by clear one,

savours their succulence,

and his pulse picks up the rhythm


of a time bomb. When all is done,

he wraps them back again

wistfully, in ageless folds

of warmth and tenderness.

Almost like children.


I cannot sense the rhythm

nor can I feel the warmth.


Therese Pace






 Qatlu l-Paċi



Sabuha agunija

fid-depot tal-armi termonukleari

bir-ragħwa f’ħalqha

tibla’ l-aħħar nifs

plutonju konċentrat

tisfuma t-trab tal-art

b’gelgul ta’ dmija.

Qed jgħidu min temmha

ħalef vendetta lid-demokrazija

lis-sliema tal-ġifa

tkittifha wisq fqajjar

biex jagħmlu kuntent.


Biex jaħbi għawaru

ordnalha l-awtopsja

bil-għodod tal-għawi,

tal-kliem ivvintat.

Fetqulha lil żaqqha

fuq karru armat.

Sabulha lil qalbha

ġġamjata bl-asfissija,

lil demmha qed jagħqad

fil-vini mbenġla

bl-iskrataċ tar-ram,

lil rasha mirfusa

b’għarqub il-malizzja

ta’ min għax setgħani

jiffanga fl-ingann.


Min sema’ karbitha,

jew libet imwerwer

mill-id li laħqitha

jew fgalha bl-affanni

in-nifs f’gerżumitha.


Therese Pace








ħabib idek agħtini

biex nimxu t-tnejn flimkien

la ddawwarlix wiċċek

anki jekk fid-dlam ma tagħrafnix


twila t-triq tassew

imħarbta l-art

mimlija xewk u għolliq


imma flimkien għad naslu żgur


xomm il-fwieħa tal-fjur

ġejja mill-ġnejna t’hemm fuq

isimgħu l-għana ħlejju tal-għasfur

arah fil-bogħod dawl żgħir inemnem

dak wieħed minn ulied il-qawsalla


lejha mixjin tibżax

l-aqwa nibqgħu id f’id


din hija t-triq

m’hawnx ħliefha

it-triq li żżommna magħqudin

li żżommna ferħanin


Alfred Massa









I sit with myself in my armchair

On the roof of my house

On a hot summer evening

Watching the big ball of fire

Slowly setting in the west.


Around me reigns perfect silence

Solely broken by the chirping birds

In the trees of a public garden

As a host of angels

Cover the earth with a black faldrappa.


I talk  to my thoughts

Asking silly questions

While you hover around the empty me.


A bell cries from the tower

Of a chapel nearby

Lamenting the death of a beautiful day,

The killing of so many innocents,

The destruction of nature,

The stealing of peace from human hearts.


Then love’s candle flickers its last…


Alfred Massa







Stanotte ho visto nei niei sogni

il Sognore passando sulle rovine del mondo.

L’ho visto silenzioso

con le lacrime negli occhi

baciando e carezzando gli innocenti

mentre placava le coscienze dei violenti.


E mi sentivo turbato

guardando attorno a  me.

Ero circondato da gente ubriacata





dalla violenza.


In mezzo ad una tempesta

di giuoco artificiale

creato dai cannoni distruttori,

mi sono trovato tra migliaia di tombe:

culle di migliaia e migliaia di uomini, donne e bambini

senza nome, senza nazionalità, senza identità;

ma che fanno parte della grande famiglia dell’umanità.


Ho pianto senza lacrime,

ho pregato senza fiato:


fammi ritornare nel grembo della mamma,

fammi ri-udire le sue ninna nanne,

fammi risentire i suoi baci.

aiutami a dormire sereno

in quest’aria pulita di PACE,

in quest’aria d’amore materno.


Alfred Massa






Iwaħħal l-ilsien

mas-saqaf tal-ħalq

b’saliva niexfa b’ramel tad-deżert


jaħraq tamiet imnebbħin, imdawlin

mhux mill-Iljieli Għarbin tal-imgħoddi

’żda minn imsiebaħ f’tined tal-bedwini


taħt sema qamri u kwiekeb fiddiena

jixhdu mirage jitlajja b’inkejja

fil-bogħod, u jgħib fil-qrib.


Inżul u tlajja’ ma’ ħalel ta’ mewġ

f’baħar mediterran fil-ħolma mxennqna

biex ir-riġel fuq art miksuba jmidd;


jara titkebbes fih it-tama f’ħajja

’l hinn mill-ġmula u r-ramel tad-deżert,

’l hinn mit-tempesti jisomtu nirien.


Qoxra ta’ mirkeb imsewwes, imħallas

minn dinari tajbin, jirkeb biex jieqaf

ħesrem bejn sema u ilma fix-xefaq;


u ħalq jinxef  mill-ġdid mis-sħana tiżreġ

mar-rq jinxef mis-salmura

tar-raxx tal-baħar taħt ix-xemx u x-xita.


Ħsieb ikiddu li t-tmiem jinsab fil-qrib

sakemm mirkeb iżiġġ fuq il-mewġ

u mill-gaġeġ tat-ton lilu jeħilsu.


U bħall-imġiddem tal-qedem, il-ħalq

fiss jitgħatta, u dlonk fl-idejn jintlibsu

l-ingwanti biex jinħelsu mit-tniġġies.


F’art oħra mhix mixtieqa,

l-iben samrani ta’ kartaġni mġarrfa

iħossu mdawwar mill-fence u l-barbed wire


biex minn hemm ebda ħarba ma sseħħ

u l-ħolm jinfatam mir-realtà ġdida

ta’ jasar ieħor bħal dak tad-deżert.

Salv Sammut





Sena Ġdida! Xewqat sbieħ!

-Kliem li jżommni naħseb fih:


Jekk matul is-sena l-ġdida

ma tinstabx duwa li tfejjaq

lil did-dinja b’qalb marida…

jekk il-faqar, ġuħ u mard

ma jgħibux minn fuq wiċċ l-art…

fiex se nsarrfu x-xewqat sbieħ

ħlief f’duħħan li jgħib mar-riħ?


Jekk ma tqumx rieda li twaqqaf

l-olokawst li fih jinqatlu

bla rimors trabi bl-eluf

ta’ kuljum fil-kenn tal-ġuf…

jekk se jibqa’ t-terroriżmu

iġsma jtertaq frak, biċċiet

waqt li l-bruda kalma tiknes

minn mal-art il-fdalijiet…


jekk se tibqa’ d-dinja xorta

f’din il-vena suwiċida

x’se jiswew ix-xewqat sbieħ

għal matul is-sena l-ġdida?


Carmel G. Cauchi






Nixtieq immur inżur il-Palestina

u nidħol f’Israel,

bla xejn ma nieħu miegħi

ħlief par beċċun bajdani

u żewġ werqiet tar-rand,

għelmiet tal-paċi.


U nidħol fil-moskea,

il-maqdes fejn in-nies tinġabar titlob,

“Allah hu akbar”.

U mmur fis-sinagoga,

fejn Alla, l-istess Alla tal-oħrajn,

hu msebbaħ u meqjum.


Nixtieq li kieku nfehemhom,

la darba qed iqimu Alla wieħed

u t-tnejn qegħdin jitolbu,

barkiet l-istess Missier,

il-firda ta’ bejniethom hija fiergħa,

fid-demm li qed jinxtered m’hemmx fejdiet,

bis-semm li qed jiżirgħu f’qalb uliedhom,

se jibqgħu jaħsdu biss aktar imwiet.


Nixtieq immur inżur il-Palestina

u nidħol f’Israel,

u  mingħajr preġudiżżji ta’ min ħati,

noffri beċċun kull wieħed,

u ntihom werqa randa,

bit-tama li flimkien jitolbu ’l Alla,

sabiex jifrex fuq arthom il-qawsalla.


Charles Mifsud






Għaliex jixxerred demm innoċenti?

Għaliex dawn l-iġsma mxerrdin,

b’għajnejhom imżellġa, ċċassati, mwerwrin,

f’rebbiegħa kaħlana milquta mill-ikreh destin?


Xi jġiegħel lill-bniedem jaħseb

fih biss u jwarrab lil ħuh

li mingħalih jgħaddi mingħajru

u jitfgħu f’miżerja u nfern li jkissruh?


Kemm hu aħjar li kieku fuq

mejda… tonda jew kwadra mqar u ftit siġġijiet,

ipoġġu tad-dinja l-kbar kapijiet,

u jaslu, jiftehmu bla ġlied u inkwiet!


Mulej ħa jasal it-talb ta’ kull Malti

għal dawn ħutna li jgħixu fil-qrib,

biex jinħeles pajjiżhom mill-mewt u mill-krib,

bħalma x-xita ħaslet id-demm mis-Salib.


Miriam Ellul






Għaddej fil-purċissjoni tat-twerwir

hemm mostru tal-azzar mill-kbar

li hekk kif ħalqu jiftaħ

minnu jobżoq in-nar.

Jiddamdmu t-toroq suwed,

jiġġarrfu l-ħitan tad-djar imbajda.

Min għadu ħaj, mitluf f’biki tal-ġenn;

min fih xettel tpattija

ma jafx xi tfisser tħenn.

Din faħma sewda oħra

f’kullana ta’ faħmiet

li toħnoq bil-mibegħda,

imdendla m’għonq l-ulied.

Din l-art jenħtieġ tinfeda,

Kristu ma mietx għalxejn;

titwarrab il-vendetta

b’xofftejha marsusin,

tidħol flokha l-imħabba

b’xofftejn sbieħ imbissmin.


John Mallia




Corpses drop from the sky like black ash

and fill the orphaned roads with death.

Roots feed on human blood

dogs feast on human flesh

brothers cut brothers with machetes

no need for guns

butchers butcher human meat

drums beat, beat, beat…


They cheer and sing and wave their

arms armed with death once more

They wait in fear for their hour to come

some pray, others in despair…



Famine, Aids and sickness

are not enough

to kill your children.

Civil war and genocide are there to

guarantee humiliation for all…


Tears not ink, blood not love,

hate not life, arms not bread,

dirt not grass, beast not man,

death not hope…


Thank God we’re miles apart

Thank God we’re not like them (is that so?)

Thank God we’re so busy with routine…


Patrick Sammut





(Wara li smajt il-qniepen tal-knisja ta’ Stella Maris idoqqu għall-paċi fl-14 ta’ Marzu 2004, b’kollaborazzjoni mad-direttiva tal-Ġnus Magħquda)


Doqqu w doqqu qniepen, doqqu u ħabbru s-sliem,

dak li ntilef qalb id-dħaħen u n-nirien.

Doqqu qniepen ibqgħu doqqu mingħajr tmiem

semmgħu l-għanja lil gwerriera w lil ġirien.


Wasslu l-leħen lil min jemmen fit-taqbid

sabiex jinża’ w jitlaq l-elmu u l-azzarin.

Mill-kampnari baxxru w xerrdu bla tiġbid

hemm triq oħra minflok dmija imċarċrin.


Xandru t-tama lil min tilef il-ħelsien

agħtu d-duwa lil min ġarrab wisq uġigħ.

Ċenċlu w ħabtu w komplu damdmu b’dak l-ilsien

sabiex jieqfu x-xhir u l-biki kollha rġigħ.


Doqqu qniepen din is-sejħa ta’ bla kliem

doqqu w doqqu sakemm jasal dan is-sliem!


Raymond Grech







In this barren desert I could see

a rifle reflected in the tears of a child.

I could smell tombs in his heart

of ages of bloodshed

running through his family tree.

Amongst grieves and ruins I talked to the boy

who with great pride showed me his deadly toy.


Amongst bonfires fighting for his land

and a losing deck in his hand

he poured upon me girdled sorrows

with a jar of suborn lament.

That was the last memory of an unknown child

before forever he went out of sight.


Omar Seguna










The world is watching,

The world is crying,

Breathlessly looking,

Loved people dying.


The world’s been shaken,

Quivered with terrors,

Terrible minutes,

Of fearsome tremors.


Billows of water,

Engulfed the ground,

Destroying cities,

And their surround.


Failed Nation’s power,

Energy and strength,


Her life and Her health.


Japan a Nation.

Of wisdom anf faith,

Japan, We love you,

Our grief is so great.


Godwin Cini







Is-sliem għajjien…

Meħud, mirbuħ,

maħkum, meħlus,

inżul u tlajja’,

bi ġlied u nkwiet,

fuq kordi mnikkta

ta’ vjolinċelli jibku

f’sinfonija imqanqla, imqallba,

bħal mewġ maħrub

bla serħan, bla sabar,

iħabbat fuq qlub għajjiena,

mifnija, meqruda,

il-ħajja bla sliema.


Iżda minn qalb vulkan il-bniedem,

ħiereġ ukoll ġamar prezzjuż,

frak tad-deheb tar-rieda tajba,

li jinxtered, imħeġġeġ,

minn nies ħawtiela, ħabrieka,

jissieltu għaż-żerniq tas-Sliem,

għajjiena iżda qalbiena,

mhux b’ras maqtugħa,

għalkemm b’qalb muġugħa.

Tinbet demokrazija vera,

f’baħar imdardar aħdar assolut,

sakemm iċedu s-swar ta’ egoiżmu sfrenat,

mimli diqa u weġgħat…


Fl-aħħar tfiġġ it-tama fuq l-arpa ferħana,

u jindaqq is-Salm sabiħ tal-veru Sliem.


Marlene Saliba Toledo







Ieqaf ftit u aħseb, ħija,

u tinsiex li m’intix waħdek.

Aħseb ftit kemm ġid int tagħmel

kieku kellek tgħin lil għajrek.


Kemm uċuħ ta’ nies jitbissmu,

kemm-il qalb itfur bil-ferħ,

kieku d-dinja tagħraf timxi,

kemm iġġib fil-qlub is-serħ.


B’kelma waħda, qalb tithenna,

b’kelma waħda, qalb tintemm.

Qatt le, tinsa tqis ’il kliemek

jekk ma tridx iġġib il-hemm.


Kemm int lest biex tħobb u taħfer

lil min deni għamel lilek?

Kemm int lest li dejjem turi

l’inti għandek qalbek f’idek?


Qatt għaddielek minn ġo moħħok

li fid-dinja bżonn xulxin

u jekk aħna rispett nuru

ngħixu dejjem ta’ bnedmin?


Aħseb, aħseb, għażiż ħija,

kif se nagħmlu d-dinja ġnien

fejn il-ward ifewwaħ dejjem

mimli fjuri kullimkien.


Joseph Sciberras (Ħ’Attard)








Inħossu jgħammar miegħi,

kull meta ħdejk fis-skiet,

maqtugħ mid-dinja mkesksa

medhija biss fil-ġlied.


Nisimgħek, xħin tarani,

ittenni s-sliem għalik,

tneżżagħni minni nnifsi,

sabiex tħażżimni bik.


Tlibbisni l-libsa tiegħek,

tal-qies imfassla għalija,

mirquma kollha mħabba,

meħjuta bl-irġulija.


Tkebbisni b’dawlek liemaħ,

ħa nixgħel kullimkien,

indawwal moħħ kull bniedem,

biex jgħix fis-sliem flimkien.


Fuq fommi tqiegħed kelma,

sabiex noħroġha miegħi,

din hija s-sliem għalikom,

għall-għajri u għall-ġar tiegħi.


U jien Mulej, nisimgħek,

tkellimni mingħajr kliem,

tħaddanni sħiħ b’imħabbtek,

tnissel ġo qalbi s-sliem.


Frans Borg









Kemm tiswa biex tinfeda?

u tikseb il-ħelsien,

din l-art li dejjem tħeġġeġ,

din l-art taħraq nirien.


Darba nixxiet il-benna

fejn l-għasel u l-ħalib

kienu l-aqwa għelejjel

u l-għira tal-għarib.


Fejn hi l-ħlewwa tal-għasel

u l-baqta tal-ħalib?

Il-qrusa refgħet rasha

għall-qerda u t-taqlib.


Din l-art hija qaddisa,

għax Alla għammar hemm.

Mela għaliex biddluha?

biex qed jisquha s-semm.


Ewwilla d-demm ta’ wliedha

li gelgel bla waqfien,

m’huwiex ir-rahan li jiswa

il-kisba tal-ħelsien.


Minflok id-dmugħ iġelben

din l-omm tibki l-ulied,

u m’hemmx li darb’għal dejjem

jieqaf dal-misħut ġlied.


It-tama tiġi u titlaq

li għad ifeġġ is-sliem,


din xewqa ta’ bla tmiem?


U d-dinja għadha tongħos

għal dan il-ġens miċħud,

’mma darba kienet tħassret

għal dak li ġarrbu l-Lhud.


Ninu Borg




Rajt il-ħuttafa tittajjar fil-qrib,

Dejjem titbiegħed mill-istess ċint.

Għaraft in-nasba tal-istint,

Biex teħles lil uliedha mit-tiġrib.

Sibtha wara bosta tiftix,

Il-bejta b’ħamest ifrieħ.

Dehra li nisslet f’qalbi hena u ferħ

Għalkemm għeriewen minn kull tlellix.

Xejn ma missejt u dikment tlaqt,

Għaliex ħajja twila lilhom xtaqt.

Ġimgħa wara fil-post erġajt tlajt,

Iżda bejta b’flieles mejta rajt.

U ħsibt li kulma l-bniedem imiss,

Ukoll jekk b’leħħ t’għajn biss,

Ta’ mewt u qerda ma jxommx ħlief ir-riħa,

Kollu ħtija tas-seħta tal-għerfien tat-tuffieħa.

(Minn Kelmet il-Qalb, Kelmet il-Moħħ, Ġabra ta’ poeżiji flimkien ma’ Joseph Filletti, 1990)


Lino Grech








Ħelwa Madonna,

jekk ftaħt ir-radju u smajt l-aħbarijiet

jew mill-gazzetta qrajt l-aħħar ġrajjiet,

jekk int terraqt fis-skiet

jew rajt mill-qrib lil ħuti

fil-beraħ jew fl-ibliet,

Int taf li d-dinja tagħna

hi kollha ġlied u ġlied.


Ħelwa Madonna,

jekk tifhem l-għala l-lum naqasna l-kliem

jew l-għala l-ħila ddub fix-xejn quddiem

il-qerda, il-mewt u t-tmiem,

erġa’ fid-dinja tagħna,

għix magħna tul il-jiem

u fuqna mbagħ’d jixxerred

is-sliem, is-sliem u s-sliem!

(Minn Solitudni fir-Ramla, 1978,1980)



Ġorġ Borg






Arja ħadra

tifga’ lin-nies.

Miżbla mimlija,

ta’  kobor bla qjies.

Xemx marradija

li tħeddel in-nhar.

Ħajja bla ħeġġa,

imsarrfa fi mrar.


Hekk sar il-għajxien!

Borma mħawda

li minnha ħadd jiekol ma jrid.

Dawl irqieq imwiegħed

jispiċċa fil-baħħ.

Ferħa bla temma

li tmermer il-moħħ

sa ma jixba’,

u jisħet is-siegħa

li darba kien opra

f’id Artist

li ħalqu,

u tefgħu

f’dil-miżbla bla tarf.


Iżda d-dawl għadu hemm,

u jibqa’.

Iwieżen it-tama

tal-bniedem, f’kull żmien.


Charles Magro







Qaltli l-Mibegħda: “tħallas;

ċekken lill-għadu tiegħek.

Urih kemm huwa dgħajjef

ħdejn saħħet driegħek.

Għakksu,” żiedet bil-ħerqa.

“Idorbu. Aħqru sħiħ.

Iġiblek, id-dmugħ tiegħu,

hena u mistrieħ.”


“Aħfirlu u ħobbu,” qaltli

l-Imħabba kollha ħniena.

Smajt minnha u tassew hieni

nistqarr li jiena..


John C. Sciberras










u niċċajta miegħek

u tistedinni niġi

sad-dar tiegħek.

Nagħtik ir-rigali

għax f’did-dinja

xejn mhu għali.

Virtwalment, naturalment.


U aħna u nidħqu flimkien,


dwar l-aħbarijiet

u l-ġrajjiet

ta’ daż-żmien.

Fuq dil-logħba

tgħidli sigrieti

mingħajr ebda ħjiel ta’ sogħba.

Virtwalment, naturalment.


U hawnhekk

l-intimità tikber fi kwarta…

Qas bżonn biċċa firma,

jew xhieda

u karta.


U f’dil-pjaneta

bi klikkjatura

bħal treġġa’ l-ħin lura;

u kull weġgħa li tkun ħloqt

tiġi maħfura.

Virtwalment, naturalment.


Għax f’dinja virtwali,

donnu kollox reali.

Nagħmlu kollox flimkien…


imbagħad tarani barra

u qisek ma tafni mkien.

 Marija Debono



The musicians during their performance.

Share this!
Posted in Malta | 9 Comments