Hajk by Lumo Kolleshi ( Albania)
The tars weep
Bring me a glass
To gather these tears.
“The bee died”
I ran but I never found its grave.
The hands strive to eat each other
Time remains in the eyes of the blind.
Modern hairdresser’s shop
Old heads not far in the distance
Push each other in the line for wigs.
Split ripen pomegranates
In the traffic lights of the boughs
Cold rains melt away upon them.
One night I slept with the snake
I felt terribly cold
In the morning I had become Laocoön.
House of a spider
The fly comes to deliver official well wishes
A house or a grave?
Loaded with stars
The date’s bough broke
The stones of the alley get wounded.
No permissions for building in the offices of spring
Inaugurate the illegal houses.
The bloody night
Butterflies come to die in the light
In my studio.
A beggar in the street
Called me a “Gentleman”
While in my pockets I had nothing but my soul.
At the rock spring bed
The thirst put its lips
The beautiful girls broke the ewers.
Peace often hangs the bloody shirt
At an olive bough
How many young seedlings do not grow to become old.