The 14 July 1990 Italian Embassy officials left Albania on an Air France plane with a stopover in Bari.
We received this second story from a former cultural official at the Italian embassy in Tirana who personally experienced the era of the narrated facts. He kindly asked us to publish it with the "Italian anonymous" signature.
Fragments of memory
The dark of evening is advancing ... the sun has already fled behind Mount Dajti.
On the balcony of a house on the second floor, while the shadows become thicker, a woman's shadow can be seen, almost hidden.
It seems that he is looking to his left, towards a yellow wall lit by a dim light that goes to rest on a sentry box. The wind suddenly moves the branches of the trees and tiny leaves fly in a dance of butterflies on the faces of the hurried passers-by.
Is the rain so announced?
She is leaning with her back against the wall, next to a vase of mint, she sucks in the strong and wild smell, a slight tremor is passing over the skin of her arms;
behold, the door of memories is half-closed, slowly, slowly, the pain returns to surface as the waves of the sea ripple. Strong and bursting like a storm of water, then it seems to settle down ... almost to leave room for an immense lake of painful prostration. In the silence.
But, suddenly, something disturbs all of this ... ... the noise of a group, or perhaps an impromptu party o.
"It is your laugh
in the sacredness of the night,
next to you are the ghosts, painful,
and you laugh.
Unknown you are wide-eyed
and arms stretched like spear blades,
torn by the fate of this people.
The mothers' cries are unknown
and the curses of the fathers
and the blood of children
still lumps dried in the sun
and the rain, more pitiful than a thousand tears,
who wet their goodbye,
and you now profane with your ignorance
And from a pompous usurper you try to cover up
Let the silence of the night
be more mother and father than you,
let the wind, light,
place a caress, sweet,
on these walls, and graze these ways,
witnesses of so much suffering
so that these ghosts
they have not wandered in vain.
The memory is still light
on the sky-colored pebbles
that still await the growing blade
of the sweet moon.
Let the waves deceive Ulysses and
that Dyrrachium is the landing from the oceans
of the world."
Here you can read the first part July 1990 - yesterday's memories
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