(Visar Zhiti, political prisoner in Communist Albania)
By Visar Zhiti
(Grotesque that I couldn’t get rid of, where any resemblance
to a real president or event is accidental, except my likeness to myself…)
Limping demon… still
they made you a president.
No horns on your head,
but a heavy helmet,
You don’t really hold
it, yet your head is strong.
Miserable comedian,
cunningly idiot.
Idol’s bronze you
carried on your back.
Blasphemously froze
your hand and your leg.
How will you raise in darkness, on which cemetery or place,
The statue, crowds took
down on bronze verdict day?
You can’t stand the
living, who survived your hell…
Then decorate the
slain, slaughtered by your brand.
You are the massacre
of our time’s conscience,
Back side of rising, -
the hoax of revolt…
What steppe brought
you luck in this late winter frost?
Holes dig with every
step, wretchedly limping demon.
You know not why you
are, why time was so unwise?
President of no
country, my country without president.
AAFH translation
