The tyrant’s one-time office, near which I work

(Zyra e dikurshme e diktatorit, pranë së cilës punoj)

Cautiously I opened the door of the tyrant’s great office,
How odd, I’m filled with fear again, a different kind of fear.
I thought the walls would be spattered
                        with the blood of the masses,
That the ashtrays on the long desk would surely be made
Of the skulls of ministers shot dead.
The floorboards did not crackle nervously,
There was no whirlpool of intrigues,
No abyss of convictions. No gun barrels
Emerging from the drawers
                        like the eyes of metal detectors.
I stood silent, pallid
As if just over a long illness.

... they were destroying the symbols of tyranny...
The noise of the hammers was like
                        the dismantling of a guillotine.
Neither occupation, nor earthquakes, nor cholera
Spread by mice in the Middle Ages, nor world wars
Brought this cataclysm upon Albania, but rather
                        this much-dreaded office, here!
Before my very eyes hung a crystal chandelier
Like a head chopped off,
                        hanging by the hair.

(Tirana, 22 March 1994)