Mummy,
Don't let anyone but you read this letter,
Not because it's secret, I'm just not strong enough yet
To deal with what I'm telling you.
Tirana is its same old self,
The narrow alleys and low houses,
The weary wintry roads,
A fifteen-storey building in the middle,
Built like my utopia,
Watchmen on street corners near the embassies,
Police - woodpeckers of a waning June.

I sense that something is about to happen, Mummy,
The government was never so much against the people,
Never was treachery among men so much in fashion,
Never did more lost and more empty women
Drift through the nights in such a deep sleep.

I tell you, Mummy, peril is summoning me
With the toothless smile of a hungry love,
With a rift in its character,
Part of the rift in society,
They are offering me jobs, many of my friends and acquaintances,
All with high names in society, but low in life's tension,
Helping me to climb the ladder by using me,
But causing my fall, not raising me at all.

Dear mother, listen to me, don't worry,
With my verses,
I will chop them up, grind them to bits, I tell you,
Like a mincing machine.

(1985)