A stone slab appeared below,
there in the yard one day.
The two looked at each other slyly—
and one grabbed the iron bar right away.
One lifted it with the crowbar,
the other struck with the heavy tool.
The Albanians watched and wondered:
“What are these two looking for here, fools?”
They searched for hidden gold coins
to give to their children and grandchildren dear.
But instead of gold beneath the stone,
they found a jar of beans stored here.
They sat and took a drink,
as if whole world were to blame—
others eating golden riches,
while they were left with bean stew again.
They asked the village president:
“What happened to our little fields?”
“With the land redistribution,” he said,
“your cousins took those yields.”
They passed by the village church
to light two candles in prayer,
and they remembered the old days
when they were children there.
They stood there motionless
to say their quiet prayer,
to thank the Virgin Unwed
that life had treated them fair.
Then they saw a silhouette—
a woman dressed in black.
It was their mother,
the widow long gone, coming back.
“Mother!” both brothers cried,
and rushed to hold her tight—
but she disappeared before them
before they reached her sight.
The heavens flashed with lightning,
the little windows shone,
and the two brothers saw
three candles burning alone.
They began the climb uphill
just before the dark of night.
It was their final evening there—
sleep would not come that night.
They ate and drank until late
in Paspali’s little shops,
said farewell to everyone—
and they would never return again.
Sklithro-Zelenich-Sebalći 