- Election time -The news bell rang again across the wood.And the ancient gate opened and shut.The animals gathered, birds, doves, squirrels.To hear of paradise, the old fairy tales.Up stood this fox who four years ago,Deceived all the animals, cows and donkeys alike.With flattery and whims like in the old days.She seeks a seat again, but in a different guise.But now even the birds chirp differently:“Where were you all this time, you swallow?Did your long strolls by the Mediterranean watersMake you forget the frosts of the homeland?When you fled, you left the frost behind.How will you find the spring you joyfully seek?”Whoever kills the songbirds with stones,Can never expect to hear them sing.When for four years you planted weeds at every gate,How can your lordship expect baskets of grapes!Whoever deals in violence day and night,Will see the hour they reap only violence as a dowry.When you violently beat the walnut tree with all your might,And break its branches and shake its trunk.You take its nuts by force, you wretched soul.But the following year it gives no gift.Whoever wants a beautiful flower in their home,Does not leave it abandoned out in the north wind.When you made not a single friend in four years,Today that you have come, there will be no friends for you.The seed of friendship does not sprout in a day,From sowing to harvest takes a full year.For four years you harvested every summer,The fruits that others had planted for you.To build a fortress of joy for a nation,Takes thousands of good and sturdy stones.For the nation's fortress to remain standing,It must hold within it a brilliant mind.Not a fox's mind, or a donkey's head,For both the coop and the villager will suffer.Whoever eats the hen in my coop without asking,Will get the muzzle of a rifle as a gift tomorrow.Whoever nurses deceit and lies in life,Will have to beg for forgiveness and charity.When two people clash it is not possible,For both to be victors, or both to be losers.But our friends who laid out the carpet,And placed upon it our feuds and our crimes.Why do they sit now in patient expectation,To receive songs and applause?Because the song of the rifle every day and every night,Gave us division and death as a gift.For the field to increase its yield,It must drink the river of joy every day.For a child to grow, they need day by day,Patience, persistence, and tender care.Hear from me the words of an old man,Renowned for his mind and renowned for his hearth:The stone hearth is built by two master masons,Perhaps they might even leave without taking their pay.But this does not mean that from them the hearthGets its name and fame, the old man presses on.But the words that are spoken all around the hearth,From the mouth of the boy to the mind of the old man.Take root in the stones and deep in the hearth,Sometimes with a Lab song and sometimes with a drum.They take root in the middle or in a corner,That is called a ruin or a parliament.Here this “little tale” which is democraticMentions nothing more, for it wants no debates.The hearth listens, and remembers a lot,Both unripe pumpkins and men of good sense.It is a cauldron, a cauldron without a lid,Where thought boils and slowly matures.The worthy wisdoms that mature every day,Give it a name or a merit.But for the hearth to have a name,It must hold five generations of mature thoughts.For the fortress of thought to rise high,It demands every stone be sturdy and true.To speak plainly and get straight to the point,The hearth of politics is not built so easily.Because one morning there sprouted from the earth,Eduard the fox, or Sali the bear.This does not mean we should give as a dowry,All of Albania, for the whore of politics.For if we lay bad stones in the hearth,It will take its toll on all the common folk.This is the truth. Whoever reads in verse,Knows what was kneaded for four years in the trough.Because the wicked man, who has no tradition,Considers the stolen seat a merit.The bitter tare in the threshed wheat,Ruins the taste of the bread and the good wheat.A lame girl with a beautiful soul,With a slender waist and a walk like a butterfly,Is never noticed by the boy waiting in a corner,When a drunken girl walks by putting on airs.If you listened closely to this little fable,You will find its precious advice inside.I did not give it to you peeled, so peel it yourself,Because this way the fruit will be much better.If you could not find the beauty within,Stay today with the Fox or go back to the Bear.
Pilo Zyba
