Schengen 1999


Don't get me out of this nod
in this train where I travel
never want to stop.

Not to end this train track
and people not to run away.

With dreams killed
the sky blushes red.

Now we are approaching the border.
The train stops.

Albanians are separated
with a red passport
like blood pomegranates
on human faces:

Here is the Schengen station.
All Albanians have to go down!

Schengen, you remember me
It reminds me of Ballsh.
It reminds me of Balldren.
What reminds me of Torovica.
What reminds me of Hoxhara.
prison - the horror of dictatorship.

It reminds me of escaping from hell.
What reminds me all of bans
and punishments for Albanians.

If you are Albanian
and transcend the borders of the states
it's like climbing a mountain
the stone of Sisyphus.

The road is long to heights
of Schengen and our suitcases
are as heavy as the mountain itself.

Drug dogs under police call
smell up on women's panties.

We will endure until we stick them
the borders of the five states
somewhere there will be
a shelter, of course.

We got tired, we really got tired
no longer we have the power to move on
we have to find a hotel, anyway.

Come on, my girlfriend,
let's go to bed.
We are tired of death.

Let's show, for last time
passports to each other
and then send us to hell!

Is this a curly albanian hell?
Those of Europe shave the border
as a gentle belt, because paradise
is reserved only for Europeans.

Oh, we got suffer in this hell
the flame entered us - we are
Schengen! ... Schengeeen! ...


Give us a visa to orgasm,

Italy, Venice Airport 1999

Written by Kolec Traboini on 18/10/19
© Traboini 2019

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time, Death, Dreams, people, dogs

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