OUR FATHER

OSMAN GASHI

The Storks flew away
All the storks
An empty sky resembles a crystal
It’s stepping on you
And you don’t see it
You don’t see anything for a whole century
A millennium
On the top of a cliff the wind tousles your hair
Like green moss
And a black bird quarries into your eyes
You don’t feel it
You don’t see it
As you are embalmed
In the same time as the mummies of the Keop’s Pyramid
You only have your breath left
And your broken teeth
Grinding you incessantly:

OUR FATHER — LAND!