by June 19, 2024 0 comments

Despair has no home,
but dwells wherever meaning is lost
and the story of the Other begins.

Where false witnesses take the big step forward,
with smiling eyes and a poisoned heart.

They wake up with paintings of Pilate in their eyes.
They soak the dried bite in the deep dish of betrayal.
They always have nails to crucify the Other.
They have memorized, crucifixion.

They have time for hatred and no time for love.
Where I Am is beautiful, views stretch like the infinity of mountains.

I do not like the story of the Other who is caught up in nothingness;
and on a beautiful evening like this
I say to myself:
My compassion is solar, circumstantial -info
I do not want to hold my smile hostage.

(Translated from the Albanian by Edita Kuçi Ukaj)

editors note:

Too busy smiling, like no Other. – mh clay

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