To Predrag Obradovic Gagi
and all the others who had to leave

The Kosovar soil’s much darker than else,
its sky is more blue, its grass is more green…
Happiness and sorrows are much more intense,
and forgetting legends is more than a sin.

Through pain, blood and battles, there were boldly set
the roots of our own newer generation,
that brought out the people who in their own sweat
kept eternal marks of their own damnation.

Now, I watch these people wondering—so sad,
people that have souls bigger than the sky;
They have no idea where to find some bread
nor where to find shelter, where to go and try…

All over around them falls Kosovar dust
to cover everything that is saint, to smear,
while in every eye emptiness makes crust
caused by all that’s taken and that they hold dear.

Their strong calloused hands powerlessly wring,
on everyone’s face new wrinkles are born,
their looks turned to someone who’s not known just cling,
while instead of answers they feel sorrow’s thorn.

Can we anyhow help their sadness end?
It’s a fact that our roots live deep in themselves…
Let’s open our eyes, let’s give them our hand,
by helping them all, we help ourselves.

The soil’s almost black, much darker than else,
as it’s sky and grass on Kosovar plot…
Happiness and sorrows are much more intense,
and these people-legends not to be forgot.

Dragana Konstantinovic
Translated by the author

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