समाचार
It’s raining here
the sky is always bronze
The steps of a thousand feet
clinking on the empty road
without the melody of your high heels
the resonance that I used to hear as music
and without the scenery that gave distance to our journey
not a distance like the one hundred years of solitude of Garcia’s
or like the love in time of cholera ( or covid )
but just a charm forgotten in the wind
a journey that begins without a goodbye.
I have already learned to adapt to sudden loss
of the season rushing to strip the memory
starting with alienating the green of leafs
and then with the yellow, purple and reddish of autumn
but I could never adapt
to the loss of the sparkle of your eyes
that shine like a thousand suns
and blooms in the flame of life.
I could never adapt to the idea
that tomorrow will rise to the threshold of a world
a glitter and whisper of a silent forest
The cherries orchard is not enough
Nor the shadow of the moon
on the mirror of the tree trunks of Neruda’s garden
nor the confusion
neither Eden that changed the flow of reflection…
Only a simple approach
a simple jump into that crazy world
where the desperate sight of a woman
became the tear of my torment.
Agron Shele, Albania – Belgium
Translated into English by MeritaPaparisto
