As we climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower,I feel dizzy from the height and the chaos,it feels like I am in the Tower of Babelwhere hundreds of foreign tongues were spoken.
I don’t know how I lost sight of you for a moment,I looked for you, but you weren’t there beside me,suddenly at the top of the tower, in a loud voice,I heard in Albanian: Moza – I love youuuu.
As if by magic in that very moment,the tower lit up in thousands of lights,I don’t know if you played the magicianor if the words “I love you” turned on the lights.
From your hands...
- To my mom, a shelter of love -
At the old little house, a little nest of love,with your eye on the road you often stand by the gate,waiting for the six children to gather again,whom time scattered to the neighborhoods of the world.
All six of us felt the warmth of your lap,for us you knitted sweaters into the late hours,with your hands you raised us to our feet,in your fingers our paths begin.
A carved sculpture in the beloved alley,in the furrows of your face only traces of love,the needles still in hands that haven’t aged,on your hair some cherry blossoms have bloomed.
Mothers now, we come to you with our children,they run to hug their grandmother,you open your arms to take them to your breast,in their running our own childhood races.
Like birds you gather us around the old table,you tell my brother: You raise the toast,and you turn your eyes slightly to the other side,averting your gaze from the empty seat at the table
The children with their noise make the room come alive,the unspoken words are forgotten in an instant,the chestnuts begin to dance in the fire,such warmth we find only in a mother…
