A wounded bird falls to the ground,It draws a breath, it is still alive.How hard its heart is beating,How afraid it is, whose hands has it fallen into?
I take it slowly in my hands,I try my best to help it,How powerless the bird feels,I hear its pain when it shows me.
A drop of water, slowly, slowly,I release into its little mouth..I stroke it with my hands, without a word,With sweetness I chase its fear away...
The little bird, completely dazed,Trembles, looks me in the eye,It fears I am a human creature.Little bird, sleep in my hands…
I want to give you a message to take.Over my homeland, where longing sleeps,Stop by the banks of the White Drin,Drink the sweet water and quench your yearning..
Take the beautiful song, the mountains,Cover them with wingbeats and echoes,Let your chirping come to rest there,With our songs and our lahutas…
There the flute and the çiftelia unite.There is Kosovo and Albania....
