Arshi Pipa Poems

A kitchen, not in use for ages,
Over the sink with its porcelain tiles,
An oil lamp coughs black smoke,
The door locked, the windows sealed.
...

The dawns cannot be seen,
Can only be heard.
Slumber, anguish, waking
In horror... a jumble
...

I entreat you, do not close the window,
Oh, unknown woman,
I dream of your movements,
Of your voice evoking spring!
...

Thunder near Korça. The rain courses
Down tarpaulins onto heads, upon the hay,
The prisoners huddle, cower in their covers,
A heap of putrid flesh and rags.
...

Come and say farewell, my sisters,
Smile and give no sign of grief,
At the doorway in high spirits
Come and wave a handkerchief.
...

Dawns that cannot be seen
Must be conjured by the senses.
When direful dreams take flight
...