...in Kosova, instead of my dream, I found a grave in which I place flowers every weekend ...
(A friend who went back from Denmark in Kosovo immediately after the war on 1999 to find his girlfriend who was shot dead by Serb military machine)
If you remember Kosovo and graves
Albanian immigrant spirit closes into loneliness
And I bite the pain in white letter
You my young friend
Do not ask for the photo of the murdered childhood
Do not daub the wound of a resurrected muse
Measure the sunset with a first step
Do not promise flowers to the spring
Kiss the cold soil of my homeland
And do not seek for love even within the books
Copyright © bekim tocani | Year Posted 2012
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