From the old balcony, a new perfume drifts by,Some long hair that the wind carries away,In profile for a moment she looked like you,With her appearance I deceive my eyes.

For a long time I’ve seen you only when I close my eyes,Sometimes a beautiful dream, sometimes a tearful nightmare,I torment myself with reproaches every day,My butterfly that I could not hold in my arms.

I don't know which balcony you stepped out on today,Who carefully gathers your hair in the wind,The perfume you left on the bed at dawn,Where have you left it today, at what address?

In my heart I keep you under lock and key,Today another perfume lingers on my neck,But when the December wind blows on my face,In my eyes I unfold you like an album.

MAKE ME A CUP FOR YOUR LIPS...

I dreamed of being upon your lips,That you would drink me like coffee every morning,But you never made a cup of me,For your lips to linger on my chest.

Even without lipstick a mark would remain,Perhaps dry as a July twig,My dead desire would waste away,For I never received even a friend's kiss.

Make me a cup or a glass of wine,Intoxicate me with kisses and wear me out,Take my desire deep inside you,Drink me a little each morning, every day...

THOSE LANDS WILL FADE AWAY WITH THE NAME ÇAMËRI.

I asked my grandfather, as he sat in the corner:“Do you remember your birthplace, how you left it?

Tell me, so I can root it in my chest too,So tomorrow I can tell my children.

Where were your olive trees? How will I know the house?Had you perhaps carved your surname on them?

Do the swallows build nests above the threshold?Do they still fly over the blood-filled roads?”

“Ah, how you tear my soul with pain...What can your grandfather tell you, when they’ve gouged out my eyes?

Only one photograph is left in my head:Streets washed with blood, thresholds washed with tears.

But if you tell your children one day,Tell them they are Çams, and they should not fear.

To seek their roots, to long for them,For tell me, who doesn't love the eyes in their head?

Do not forget the pain we carried in our chests,Those lands will fade away with the name Çamëri.”

TRUST THE WOUNDED HEART...

I have lost the half-fallen moon,Angered, she no longer wants to come out.Surely I too have made a mistake somewhere,That is why she does not want to forgive me.

Perhaps you watch it through the clouds,My gaze fading far away.I remained blinded by you,With the light that follows my every step.

Trust my wounded heart,It now knows and loves.Whenever you come out and hide among the clouds,Your “game” hurts it.

Is it a game, or does your anger not let youCaress my heart?I became a man with gray hair,And it seems I never understood women.

WE REMAINED TWO DRUNKS...

Drink if you are thirsty, don't blame me if you get drunk,Amidst the embers of my eyes you warm up every evening.

So when you sing to me with your body and without words,I close my eyes so the embers slowly die down.

We start the duet, because your song won't let me be,In the darkness, our voices become one.

A whole concert, until late in the morning,Ah, this blessed intoxication, that won't let you go!

Sometimes you get drunk, and sometimes I follow you,On my body you danced to Vivaldi.

And the drunkenness takes me, and it doesn't pass,My heart bursts and my mind flies.

And we remained drunk together, the two of us,In each other's arms, breathless, blind to the world.