Frederik Rreshpja - The garden

The broken lions of childhood
Lap water from an ancient well;
Saadi warms his hands atop a rosewood fire,
With his turban of dew.

Often from myths leap satyrs
Who open the gates of shadows.
Jasmine observes the paths of night
And light flows from her fingers.

In love with his own beauty,
Narcissus raises his shoulders from the buds.
On my brow I sense the chisels of spring
Carving me eyes of grass.

- Kopshti, from the volume Lirika të zgjedhura, Tirana, Albin 1994. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie and Janice Mathie-Heck

COMMENTS