Tag Archives: poem

Friends, Never Again

death of love

Death of Love

In the dark of night 

We quivered and shook

Made love without light

 – without eyes to look.

Yet so strong was our bond

That the union only grew 

More perfect, more wrong;

None but us knew

Of a love quite this true .

And then on a night,

quite warm, 

Malice bellowed between us

And bore out a storm: 

Our glimmer turned to rust. 

I left her alone and she let me be

Which brought our nascent love 

to an abrupt end.

The days of saying, 

“I am you and you are me”, 

were now history. 

A fate we were sure we’d

never amend;

Thus, never again would we 

ever be friends.

Written by Mensur Gjonbalic

November 6, 2017 




Love Loss by Philip Straub


The pain within me subsists

Failing to subside along

the malevolent shores of misery

– leaving my beckoning for

peace at a stalemate

I roam, now, as before,

as, what I once thought,

may not have been always

– now reassured as always

Discontent with the present condition,

I tend to be at a disadvantage of any sort of success in the gamble of affinition

Affinition is a self-concoction, or so I thought, to describe

my affinity towards seeking that which one so earnestly needs

– love and purpose

Yes, yes, love.

A word I could’ve saved time and space for,

but needed to banter about

because the word had been worn out

into nonexistence

– sort of like my heart’s ability to hope for it any longer

I thought I had it,

halting all otherworldly desires and aspirations to affix myself closer towards

what I perceived as the target

Yet, and, as I, very unfortunately so, have and apparently continue to say

[momentarily speaking]

the bullseye I’d been aiming at wasn’t even remotely within the boundaries of the circle

Drunken in what others witnessed as an incredulously bedazzled affixation

and what I still recall as ‘Love’

All my nerves had been pressed to their outermost limits

Agape, I snapped out of the spell

Aware of all that had taken place within

the better part of nearly two solar cycles,

Or as the commonly sane man calls it

– years –

I awoke to cleanse my future of irreversible chaos;

A fate I only had the power to deter

But, and not to my obvious lack of dismay,

had the opportunity to revisit old feelings

– many, if not all, I hadn’t seen in quite a while

Initially, these were intensely euphoric

until they receded into the currents of truth

and, a state of being, by no means, in need of a moniker: reality!

Reality struck once again, as always, once and for all; alas!

The drunken hour subsides and as the lighter hews of blue steep into the sky as I pen my embellished thoughts of somewhat-nothingness through the voracity of my ego,

I’ll spare prosaic detail:

All is done with; it’s over!

I, and you, the one – specific brunetted-gobekli amorada of a faraway land –

have ended a journey, cherished in misery,

in which we’ve circumnavigated

The Seas of Hallowed-Longing and perhaps now

– currently and speaking of what had occurred and of what may or may never be, in the hopes of ‘may never’ being never and ‘may’ being in the likelihood of being forever –

is where we’ve been longing to be

And may, bereft of all dismay, find what we’ve been so earnestly seeking.


[~ An affirmation of our affinition may,

Not in contentment nor dismay, not be of need;

For when it comes, it comes

And when it arrives, I’ll be there,

Along the shore, waiting ~]


by Mensur Gjonbalaj

Written on June 25, 2017

Lovers Estranged

Lovers Estranged

In the dark of night

We quivered and shook,

Made love without light

 – without eyes to look.

Yet so strong was our bond

That the union only grew 

So perfect, yet so wrong;

None but us knew

Of a love quite this true.

And then on a night,

quite warm

Malice bellowed between us

And bore out a storm.

Our glimmer turned to rust:

I left her alone and she let me be,

Which brought our nascent love

to an abrupt end.

The days of saying,

“I am you and you are me”,

were now history;

A fate we were sure we’d

never amend.

Thus, never again would we

ever be friends.

A loveless tirade of blameworthy games

Wrought upon us aimless ambitions

of endly up falsely engaged.

We were meager in faith

and quick to berate;

Cursed to be together no more

and in vain, with hearts so sore.

I no longer know of her

and to her I am dead.

We’re no longer lovers,

And the rest is better left unsaid:

Stranger than strangers

are lovers estranged.

By Mensur Gjonbalaj

October 30, 2017

Cries of Glory

Hello my fellow audience,

It has been quite a while since I’ve posted anything on this blog. My apologies to those who’ve been following me for the past four years or so; I’ve been busy working on many other writing projects, on top of having had quite a chaotic year, personally. But my I haven’t forgotten about my poetry. The following poem will be the first one I’ll be posting in over a year and I hope you all enjoy it, as I plan to post all the poems I’ve written in the past year within the next couple of weeks.

Thank you all for your love, support, and feedback!

Best regards,

Mensur Gjonbalaj


Cries of Glory

For whom the bell tolls, 

The winds blow in favor of the bold;

Loss is for the mundane of mind

and bleak of soul. 


Within the depths of thought

Must passion spark a flame to start;

Yet a glorious fate lies brim 

for the pondering fool who does

Nothing but wanders in the dark. 


For little do they know that before them

Stands a mountain of grandeur, 

yearning their call and eager to be mounted. 


Glory cries, “unsheathe the steel welded by fire and magic, 

And plunge it into the heart of Destiny!”

Conquer the dreams dreamt yesterday, today.

For tomorrow is when Fate is vanquished 

and Glory reigns tall. 


With every fleeting defeat comes humility, 

yielding into strength. 

And with every victory arises a difficulty 

to which only the Great may attest.


by Mensur Gjonbalaj

October 29, 2017

Aşk Şiiri 


aşk şiiri

A poem I wrote in Turkish a couple of months back. I added an English version to it for my non-Turkish speaking audience.

Aşk Şiiri 

Ey sevgili dostum

Seni bekledim

Bana geldin

Şimdi kalbim sakin

Aşkım hüküm sürdü

A Love Poem

O my dear friend,

I’ve waited for you –

You came to me.

Now my heart is calm:

My Love has prevailed

~ Mensur Gjonbalaj

February 3, 2017


Along the green shores of a golden coast rests the dreams of generations
That once sought fortune and prosperity in a land far from the old world.
Enclosed by mountains of gold and deserts scorched by Death,
the cost of these pursuits were ever endearing toils
– wondrous as it was.
Poor men hastened to make their claims;
Rich men took the liberty of forming their vision of a paradisal republic.
California, a haven for the wide eyed warriors and desperado vagabonds, reserves a special place in the hearts of lovers of life and all that is sacred in the eyes of it’s beholder.
When the blues catch us off guard and are unforgiving,
Look west and fly the winds of the zephyr;
So far away for the meek of soul,
it lies deep in the hearts of the gypsy-minded.

By Mensur Gjonbalaj
May 4, 2015

So You Want To Be A Writer – Charles Bukowski


Charles Bukowski

A poem by one of my favorite poets, Charles Bukowski.

So You Want To Be A Writer

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.


by Charles Bukowski