The Flowers on the Balcony

My girlfriend and I plant flowers on the balcony,
We soak them daily with fresh spring water
To teach our son their names.
This is the highest of gardens,
On the fifth floor.
In the fields it rains on the blooms,
But on the balcony we sprinkle them.
When sun-ripened summer returns
We give the poor flowers a holiday
And gather our things for a trip to the coast...
My flute will keep them alive,
Says the mountain boy on the balcony next door.
We bring souvenirs back from the sea,
Sand, photos and salty water
For the dead blossoms on the balcony.
No flute is to be heard, only the wind and the rain
Beat at the windows in anger
We retreat into our skins
And, leaning against the radiator
We warm our aching bone.

[Lulet në ballkon, from the volume Trungu ilir, Prishtina: Rilindja, 1983, p. 270.
Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]