An autumn day like this

by on January 9, 2024 :: 0 comments

The latest news starts as beautiful tales:
It was once a time of hope and a happy city.

Now there is smoke, fog, and grief stones.

People walk around confused, drink coffee with ghosts,
and make confession to them as Constantine* did
when he brought Doruntina to his mother.

Across the narrow streets, thoughts are narrow
and fall down: also those who make their eyes four.

There was once a time when we expected freedom from the news.
Now the news reveals shadows and tarnishes freedom.

Beyond the horizon in the steep mountains, snow,
and an endless winter frost.

One autumn day, like this one,
with excess freedom of imagination, with
beautiful women playing in the beautiful autumn leaves.
Meanwhile, across the screens,
a gang of politicians blur their intentions.

One autumn day, like this autumn day,
unscrupulous people walk empty streets.
They abort freedom and appear every evening on our big screens.

Before eyes that see nothing in the fog,
they demonstrate how the kingdom of madness is formed.

At the end of one autumn day,
I stopped the clock. And through the window
I saw many silhouettes, upset people in an upended city
of troubled women
and the troubled children of a handful of very happy politicians.

(Translated from the Albanian by Edita Kuçi Ukaj)

*Constantin and Doruntine, or Constantin’s Besa, is an Albanian ballad and legend.

editors note:

You can fool some of the people some of the time… (We welcome Ndue to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

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