A Letter for Çim Arifi, an Albanian in Exile

With what strength you cling
To these common, worthless objects, my Albanian brother.
A large car, a television set...
I, lyrically tranquil, told you the tale of the river of Lethe,
Recited legends on the hillside with imprecise philology.
We awoke from our dreams in November 1990
On the banks of the Ionian Sea facing our Fatherland.
With satisfaction, you noted that in Durrës
They were decking their homes with tin cans and bottles,
That the waves of that Sea had donated.
But let us consider for a moment, my dear Çim,
Ours are two blind and symmetric illusions:
You long for wondrous, new goods
And I wish even that unseen ones might vanish.
At night, both of us in exile,
Beyond Canaan - Fair Morea,
In the geography of loss we found security over the phone.
We told our forefathers that we were well,
But didn't mention that we had changed!
In your eyes I saw that burst of anguish
Of people who have turned up in modern times.
Once again, in my sight
Appear sixteenth-century galleys,
The ships of Andrea Doria,
Sailing from Albania to Italy!
You, Çim, weren't among them. I sought you in vain!
Here we are still on that ancient journey,
Caught in a magnetic maelstrom of peoples.

[Një letër për Çim Arifin, shqiptar i mërguar, from the volume Last Exit to Bukura Morea, Castrovillari: Il Coscile, 2003, p. 28. Translated from the Albanian by Robert Elsie]