The Naked Day Poem by IRMA KURTI

It's early in the morning, my steps
are heard and all around are asleep.
The shop shutters will open slowly
like eyelids after a restless night.


I am calm and happy, the day's mine,
I might do with it anything I want;
fill it with many thoughts of light,
rotate it in my hands like a globe.


Then the streets begin to fill
with noises: the horns of the cars,
people hurry up, colliding with me.
The day escapes by my hands at once.


It undresses with the glee with which
I wrapped it. Now on the others it depends.
On its shoulders the stress crashes,
it slips from my fingers like a snake.


No more belongs to me the naked day.