After Getting Through Your Door Poem by Sami Gjoka

She stood there across the fence, looking through the iron bars
Put her little, tiny hands in her pockets, deep inside
Like a pillar pushing up, smiles from the sodden eyes
While feeling once more as if a withered leaf
Holding on and trying hard to not show any grief
Feeling that her soul had been crushed by boots of parting feet
Looking at the ferryboat set off for the opened seas
Looking at that piece of cloth, trembling as if from her sighs
Tied and risen to the pole to wave its sad good-byes
Looking at the sudden flight of the seagulls from the shore
And then feeling drops of tears streaming down once more
After there is nothing left to stare at, across the fence
Except sadness and regret that have grown so immense.

Now that he is departing he seems happier than before
While landing bringing flowers of promises from abroad
Did he think you as a bitter coffee in the pot, below?
Did himself he thence consider sugar, sugar to bestow?
Or a bulb of spreading light killing darkness of your night
Not the devil that brings candy in your distant memories
Lifting you up from the ground, hug—squeezing with tease
And then turning to your mother, easily fooled and easily pleased
Who tells you to be quiet, locks you out, left alone
And then see him rushing out, stepping on the grassy lawn
Inconsiderate of you sobbing, no more lusty no more randy
While aching to the bone you then spit out his candy.

You look at the ferryboat, by each moment, getting smaller
See him leaving like an army, pulling from an ancient castle
Leaving death and leaving silence, leaving fire, leaving smoke
Looking back as being proud and expecting you to bow
Like some shallow, priggish leaders that are blowing their own horn
After burning from the clouds, with raining cluster bombs
From the cradle bud of mumble-blooming of each human voice
Up to every single stone above every muddy grave
Rising, stepping on the shoulders of their soldiers young and brave
That come bloody but victorious from all battles, from all clashes
Blinded by their boastful ego, by their yearning by their crave
To be always remembered to those countries they have burned
And have turned into ashes; as for this they must be praised
And be mentioned and remembered with glory and with grace.