The fetish on the willow tree,
Confers no meaning to me,
The prospect of my eternal existence clings to my mind.
Posterity will find my words,
Wandering souls to ponder upon them.
I extol all there is.
The perspicuity of my dreams gives me chills.
Eternal joy.
I've learned by wretchedness and desolation.
The lessons life employs.
Yet no contempt has remained,
Of the indignities, the avarice.
My mind is over flown with loftier sentiments,
Poignantly osmosing the scars.
Shqipe Palloshi, 2015