At the bars of my cell

(Te hekurat e frengjisë sime)

How sweetly the nightingale sang
Through the iron bars of my window,
Transforming the very iron
            into the verdant branches of a cherry tree.

The floor was covered in warbles

And I, on my knees,
Picked them up one by one
Like crumbs of bread,
            like crumbs of life.

(in a prison cell, 1980)