On our "ancestral lands"
(Në "trojet" tona)
From that moment on,
I left behind me the void of my steps,
The traces of my unlived life.
Where did all the words go?
Where did we vanish
Who are no longer?

Thereafter,
White wastelands of repentance,
Topographies of torment,
Neither you
Nor I
Know
Whence the storm has come.

From that moment on,
They became my scarf of oblivion
To wrap and warm the late nights, and yet,
How cold it is on our "ancestral lands!"