Masiela Lusha (23 October 1985-? / Tirana, Albania)

They blame you for the celebrated madness-
For the tearing open of beasts' throats,
Releasing demons into the twilight waves of lull.

Above the bruised Earth, above the trees,
You skirl a pulse into two lean measures
Of youth who are swearing
Their heart-pounding, wide-eyed love on to you.
But you deceive them for you change
And their soulful love slips off,
Unforgiving into the edge of night.
They learn never to love like that again.

You are but a siren, and under your song,
Beasts become lovers, and lovers become beasts.
Only under your song are raw howls set free,
Riding the wild darkness into sleep,
Leaving their stage for the night.

So sing your song, unforgiving siren,
Part the curtain clouds with your faithful entrance
And clear your voice.
Pour your song of milk onto this land of yours.