Autumn put on its little rain-boots
And entered me to walk on them
At lands whereabouts a human foot
could never enter and never descend
The old mess-tin is under the eaves
by little is filled with solitude again
The fog is pouring on the vine-leaves
Images of kittens, wet under rain.
I close my eyes and peep the hot sand
Of summer that cools and clots in me
Beyond the plain of wet barren land
Forgotten woods in ashes to be.
I raise my finger to write on the pane
But snowy a voice freezes my hand:
“you’ve none to say “I love you” again
And I felt a knife in aorta to land.
*****
Translation from Albanian into English
By Alfred Kola
