You, too, wait for me when fall arrives.
Winter, afterwards, is how you treat it:
it may numb your limbs to the bone,
same as it may be that uninvited guest,
who knocks on the door one snowstormy night,
and is seated by the hearth, where firewood is cracking,
while he starts pulling out oven-hot stories,
about true or made-up stuff,
leaving the curious kids dumbstruck.
Don’t wait for fall to come to your doorstep.
Seasons have their own events,
same as people do.
It may happen that it shows by surprise,
it may flash by your home,
while in a hurry to elsewhere.
It might have come forth from inside your being,
while you were busy watering the lilies,
white like the steamy breath in a winter day.
Do you now see, Etna, how seasons communicate?
Translated from Albanian: ARBEN P. LATIFI