The Heroes and I
The heroes were huge when I was little,
Larger than the figures of their statues.
As I grew
I looked at them
Less and less
From below
Until one day we were eye to eye.
What will happen now?
Will I, or will the heroes, learn
Which of us is superfluous?
[Unë dhe heronjtë, from the volume Legjenda e lindjes sime, Tirana: Ora 2005, p. 20. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]
Donika
We speak of George
of his long days and nights at war,
Of the savage sieges, victories,
Of his clever courser, his strong sword,
But we often forget you.
We forget how he returned battle-weary
To find you waiting at the door.
Your body took on his anguish at the wounds of his fallen soldiers,
At seeing fields of grain torched,
At glimpsing wells drained of their water,
So that he would have nothing.
He had to rest a while
To be ready for combat the next day.
His head, which never bowed to heavy cannons,
Yielded to your soft shoulder.
You watched as his lids grew heavy,
As his eyes closed
And, to make his dreams sweeter,
You entered them yourself.
If you were needed in those long sieges,
You are needed all the more in eternity.
How could we otherwise claim to know
the true George,
Without that part of him he left with you?
[Donika, from the volume Legjenda e lindjes sime, Tirana: Ora 2005, p. 63-64. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]
