Sunday Taxis

(Taksitë e së dielës)

At the station under the pines twenty-seven taxis
Are waiting in silence this rainy night.

Tomorrow they will cross the city again
Like the raindrops on my brown coat.

What journeys await them? And what do they dream of,
These taxis sleeping in the neon light?

In their metallic dreams mingle the reflections
Of lives which tomorrow will cross one another's paths.

Some will be ridden by real loves,
In others the victims of matchmakers will weep.

If I knew in which taxi the tears would ride,
I would throw my body under the wheels to stop it.