"How long was this winter, how endless"

1 min read

Poems by Ismail Kadare

How long was this winter, how endless.
Tired powder on your face.
Joy is numb, as if it could not be resurrected.
Or like the one who was sent away by a long illness.
Will it never recover as it was?

How long was this winter, how cold was it.
In the well of consciousness they barely feel
The sound of bells as the groan of the drowned.
They also died, I can not raise them,
How many things wither, worse than death itself
Their former slow withering, oh god.

How long this winter was, how hopeless it was.
The Chinese no longer appear at street crossroads
But they themselves are not dead: window glass
The style they brought glitter flickered
Sending their coldness
Over thousands of faces as if by passers-by

How long will it take
The race gene to rinse that mask?
Or in the fight of the mask with the skin
Will the mask finally win?

How long was this winter, how cold was it,
Above the tomb of the monotonous tyrant
The rain is falling. Is there sleep or not under the ground?

How long was this winter, how bitter was it.
Tired powder on your face.
Under the dust of temples, my soul is weary.