“Someone might knock on my door out of a desireto see me,and someone out of pain,but it is better not to separate them”—I am quoting the words of bacë Rifati!
Thirteen years agoRed sheets had covered the gardenOn the table spilled the gunpowder of the black-hearted,No hands were left to bake the bread,The milk had run dryThe children were fed with those bits of gunpowder!
The bones shrieked, the bullets thundered,The lake of blood burst its banks,Time rotted the smiles of the flowersSnakes coiled around the flesh of the heroes of innocence!
A bullet, another and another…The numbers rose into infinity…The Jasharaj towers a stone resistanceTheir spirit blossoming in freedom!
The claws of the sun gripped PrekazBeneath the shadow of the sky blood floated,The mountains dressed in dark cloth,The fields drowned in the mouth of the red lake!
History took me by the hand that summer eveningAfter so many years of pain and honorFace to face with bacë RifatiIn the poppy garden pride remained my necklace!
My body shivered, my spirit weakenedThe courage, honor, bravery and prowess of the JasharajsWere fiercely shackled to the gates of my heart!!
