Mother Theresa’s Death


It's the only death in the world that will remain inconsolable!
In fact this is what the academicians think.
Now that Albanian people's glory is dead
Who will be the third most important person after Christ?!
Now that her hands are crucified on words for life
And the wind began wailing from one continent to another!
Oh, this foreign calamity made of the palm trees
It's lamenting in the Albanian cities, oh, oh.
From small nations often the giants of humanity arise
Like deities molded in the sculptures by Phidias's hands.
Oh Lord turn my embitterment into a Michelangelo,
In the infant I'd draw Mother Theresa's mercy.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem