Ndaloi te gjitha oret… telefonin shkepute…
Ndalo kete lehje qeni…kockenderdhembe lengezuese…
Heshte pianon dhe me nje daulle te shurdhet
sill arkivolin dhe ler te vijne ngushelluesit…
Leri aeroplanet ne kor te renkojne qiejtprekur...
te zhgarravisin atje lart mesazhin “Ai ka vdekur”...
ver shirita te zinj perreth qafes se pellumbave ne shesh...
lere policin e trafikut dorashka te zeza te veshe…
Ai ishte Veriu im...i imi Jug…Lindje…Perendim...
ishte java ime e punes dhe i se dieles pushim…
pasditja ime...e imja mesnate...kenga ime...i imi tingellim...
Mendoja qe dashuria zgjat pergjithmone por... ah sa gabim!
Yjet nuk me duhen tashme; hiqe secilin…
paketo henen dhe cmonto diellin...
zbrazi oqeanet dhe pyjet terhiqi zvarre…
asgje te mire prej tyre pasketaj nuk do te marr……
(perktheu dhe pershtati nga origjinali: Artan Gj. Hasani)
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
