Black,
 my soul
 is the color of mourning
 on this clear spring day
 where the sky
 is dropping bombs
 with exotic names
 on a land troubled
 and tortured  by hatreds,
 planted
 generations ago.

 And as always happens
 in spring,
 the blackbirds
 who claim Kosovo,
 from time immemorial,
 are bravely singing
 their mating songs
 competing
 with the sirens
 and explosions
 that blossom
 out of the deadly air.

 Blackbirds may be
 the only winners
 in this senseless game.