With a trampled soul,With a disappointed heart,Muttering, sorrowful,Pinned down, wounded.
With clouded eyes,Wide open, tearful,And with crumbling lips,And with bleeding teeth.
The mother of Gjakova, too,Bore a daughter and bore a son,Ganimete and Abedin,In their sorrow they spoke some words,
Rise up then, today, O Albanian!Rise! Rise! Do not crawl!Your lands of legend,And of the rifle, and the pen...
Brave children, what does your mother tell you,To Kosova like a flower, like a lily,Fulfill the spoken dying wishes,Shoulder to shoulder, threshold to threshold...
The gorge of Gjakova is not afraid,You fell in battle, the mother cried out, “Woe!”Kosova came to life,To freedom’s meadow you became a cradle and a dowry.
Ravens blacken the sky, and summon sorrow,They lunge at the earth, they stop the sun,As often as we were freed, we were shackled again,Aged, hunched right down to the hearth’s embers,
Let us all rise, we have been stained enough,We will no longer be hostages of a rotten time,In the middle of Gjakova we established freedom,The tragedy of shame has come from time.
The treacherous German wants to defeat us,The fate of Kosova turned a world around...Look, O man, what boots you have on your head,They have tangled the thread in this world.
Seven winters melt away, for the soul is spent,The same claws and beaks, twisting and turning,Orphan Abedin was walled up as a legend,May the gunshot and the song remain for him through the centuries...
With a brave sister and a sorrowful mother,With ravens underfoot and claws like thorns,They wounded the storm petrel, so many storm petrels,An ancient history written on the battlements...
The rabid wolves wanted Albanian blood,Sister Ganimete overcomes the pain,She goes to her only brother through the mountain,To grant him freedom from the barrel of a rifle...
In the blackened vault of the sky she says some words,May hopes never be broken in life,May your dreams not be killed, freedom has emerged,The eagle flutters inside the flag...
The path we started will change our lives,But the black ravens, claws and knives,Brave Abedin is slaughtered by pain and death,But the brave boy, it seems, does not fear death...
With the beak of sins they pierced his body,The German wolfhounds quench their hunger with blood,The sister, poor sister, only sixteen,Thousands of silent words whisper, they suffer.
This is the end of all ends, in the world,And the beginning of all beginnings, bravery says.Inside the brother’s soul with the vigor of youth,The lives of all Kosova’s freedom were watered...
Through the maddened spring her soul is wandering,Her black braids sway like a white dawn,The lioness’s words surge on her lips,Freedom has set out from the mountains to come...
She lets out burning cries for her brother,She swallowed her tears and curses the German,Her brother’s blood blinded both her eyes,But pain cannot drown out freedom...
She feels it, time is collapsing along the edges,In those same ellipses, circles, hill after hill,Ravens and crows circle, we left our bones to the world,Mothers and brides wait alongside the mourning of the hearth.
Children grow, grow old, fathers fade away,What is this doom, only for us Albanians,We have been and are an ancient people,With rifle, pen, knowledge, and deed...
“Find the way, sister, for you must get out,Today gunshots are needed, not a play on words.”I have nowhere to lament, I cannot, brother,I will take my revenge, if I am to survive,
Grant a soul to breathe, grant a heart to beat,Trampled underfoot, I will never live.EITHER TODAY, OR NEVER,Your fellow fighters cover you with the flag,We have lost our bones, they shattered our skulls,But they never took our freedom through the centuries.
The tragedy of the hour snatched Ganimete,They put the ropes on her in the middle of Gjakova,With her hands tied like winters without summer,Ganimete’s body burst into spring...
The anger of Kosova turned into light.Kosova endures no more in passive forms,Upon her lands the heroes, the miracles,Are a new birth for all histories...
