Raderna: Ismail Kadare

And when my memory

And when my fading memory,
Like the after-midnight trams,
Stops only at the main stations,
I will not forget you.

I will remember
That quiet evening, endless in your eyes,
The stifled sob upon my shoulder,
Like snow that cannot be brushed off.

The separation came
And I departed, far from you.
Nothing unusual,
But some night
Someone's fingers will weave themselves into your hair,
My distant fingers, stretching across the miles.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Tipset" om Ismail Kadare kom från Gunnar Strandbergs blogg.

Här några av Kadares dikter, översatta till engelska.