This poem was sent to an Albanian mailing list by Irma Spaho.
The original Albanian text of this and other poems by this author
can also be found in this site.|
You won't again be able to hold me in your arms,
play with my curly hair, tickle my thoughts,
laugh noisily with my jokes, messages,
with my pure and childish naivety.
Your days will be devoid of my timid smile,
our long discussions about justice, nations, Kosova, politics,
my contempt for lawyers and materialists,
and your mistrust of governments and peoples...
Perhaps you will forget me tonight,
but one day you will ask about me,
you will search for me in the infinity of skies,
perhaps the stars and the moon you will take ransom,
perhaps send the birds to find me,
and you will be sad to see me in someone else's arms,
someone that I don't belong,
just like you don't belong to me.
The day will come my heart - it is not too far,
I am sure that day will come,
when my silence will drive you mad and you will ask Gods for help,
when my eyes will inflame your sleep,
hidden behind a line, or hidden behind a dream.