Fragile Land
(Vend i thyeshëm)

(To the tribes below the Drin)

Between Molç Mountain and Qerret
There opens a gorge leading down to the river,
Formed as if it had been a lake,
And we were out there alone, on it, still,
In dugouts of maple.

We used to know by heart
The names of choice fish and not
Of preying birds and wild
Foliage.

Even the sheen in our eyes
Would be blue and not black.

We would float in the water
Not in the clouds