Ballad
Ballads are always long and sad,
They end up with a grave by a linden tree:
I’ll miss my death for a little while,
Again to die, denied by thee.
No end of the world, I wander as shadow,
Releases me from ancient pain.
The sounds of sharki – like drizzle rains,
Were planting worms in bones and vein.
For the graves it’s ne’er been early or late,
The time for a hostage mortal’s decay.
Is death your garment that has been lowered,
Since you did live your very last day?
And fires are burning to ashes in under,
The bird of ash grows in the air, carefree.
The Universe is sleeping on longing sarcophagus ,
Ballads end up with a grave by a linden tree.
Translation from Albanian into English
By Alfred Kola
