Bloody lips

(Buzët mbi gjak)

The open wound
Of the gladiator
Gurgles out life’s end.

The cries of acclamation from the stands
Fill the sky with raging tigers.

Waving their arms about, to incite the masses,
The aging notables add an air of dignity to the arena.
Making their separate entries, they
                                                k
                                                n
                                                e
                                                e
                                                l  over the still warm corpses
Of the young. Their withered lips they pose
Upon the fresh flowing wounds
And, to prolong their lives - so they believe,
Suck, ravenously suck out the blood, blood, blood.
Fresh blood from the sun,
Flowing into filthy veins
As if into sewage pipes,

And thus the Heart of the Nation is abandoned.

(Lushnjë, 1987)