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Poem by Luan Rama

My homeland is a story
as old as the world,
it is a downward slope
on broken eagle wings,
it is a river of tears
flowing into a sea of sorrow,
It is a bitter and cold spring.
My homeland is my sigh that splits the sky.
It is a dry, barren land,
a soul frozen with sobs
by candlelight,
It is the olive leaf that flutters in the wind
on old graves with nameless stones,
my homeland is an abandoned village
with silent wells and locked doors.
My homeland is an unfinished poem.
It is the inn on the mountain road
empty, blind, without a person,
It is the desolate vineyard, the felled forest,
and the raven of the abandoned land,
It is an immigrant with his mother’s letter in his pocket
with words of promise,
it is a belated return under a blinding sun.
Alas, my homeland has become a commodity for sale
by those who love power so much
who wake up and go to bed with it,
It is an orgy of unscrupulous politicians
who only know how to promise paradise.
But my homeland is also a child’s play
who jump the rope on the paths of hope,
it is also a sunny dream
that goes slowly in the steps of a young girl
with a brackish, heaving breast,
it is the sweet kiss of the neighbor in love
and the wedding that will take place in the fall,
my homeland is and always will be a story
that holds me captive forever…


Translation from Albanian to English
By Alfred Kola


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