Yahya Dukagjini

The Albanians are my stock,
And all my kin live by the sword.
With ease, like falcons, these brave folk
Forge their homes within the cliffs.
...

Come, let us tour the town and quaff wine from the bowl,
Oh pious ascetic, do the wise ever flee the tavern?
I am distraught when I see those weary eyes,
The heavy clouds of my sighs pour tears of hail.
...

Poetry, like Joseph, draws a written veil across its face,
Poetry speaks from behind the shawl of its own intrigue.
My beloved would know my plight if he read my verse,
He would sense my pain if he heard my cries.
...