In the field where his mother labored
Every time he faced the sun, he said his prayers
His sister came after, playing
With her brother’s longing
Reciting with infant words
And the three of them smiled; …smiled
With the voice of time echoing
… A path filled with light!
He bowed to receive his mother’s blessing
Feeling the wrinkles in his mother’s hands
And on his manly forehead raised by her kisses…
He sensed the scent of the earth just like his mother’s
That’s why he laid every evening under a tree
With the sun in his soul, singing to life…
Hear the cicada’s song, my dear, hear it
Some words they mutter to spring
And send their whisper to the leaves
Was this world made to be savage?
Oh, what sins did we give to this earth
So that our own tear weighed in powerlessly
At traces that froze in oblivion
On a path where there’s no coming back
For sure I’ll carry behind only regret, asking:
Why were we not enough in this greedy world?
When one day even our soul will see it
Stripped from our bodies.
O tell me that nothing is true
That the poet’s words are thatch stalks
That would be fired by one single match
And I, my last line I’ll give to the Human;
For he prays in the sin’s mercy
And in his life never lied to himself
My last line I’ll save it for the Human…
Irsa Ruçi is an Albanian Speechwriter and Lecturer who has received numerous awards, and whose books include Trokas mbi ajër (poems and essays), 2008 and Pështjellim (poetry), 2010.