Tears of Peace
By Fatmir Terziu
The vetch of autumn awoke me. Tears of Peace
crawling on the Scythian glass
left its grey charm,
hastily gaining a stealthy hand
over the darkened face of the sky,
then instantly signing
for less darkness.
Arrogant over the Thames,
the toothless sun appeared
like a moving Persian rug,
in order to dust off the Tears of Peace.
Designs with dark-brown cords
took over my window,
ropes were tied on the door,
it was simply a vision.
Tears of Peace had settled on the eyelids,
specially to tickle me,
tears are not as in fairy-tales,
peaceful even when they move.
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