Born in the towers, forged among the crags,breastplate of centuries-old wounds,trampled by the savage hordesof the raging Carpathian beasts,the dreamed-of morsel of sworn enemies,of Isa, Adem and Azem,of the land soaked in the blood of our sons,cursed, murdered, driven away...But... no, Kosovo, your sons did not fall for south and north,they fell for you, Kosovo, they fell for us, Kosovo.Not in vain were the mothers left with folded handsand with tears in their eyes.Silent and wrapped in the veil of wisdom,you said with a sighthat we must keep the vow of the fallen.Yes, our mother, the “dreamed-of cradle” of the old enemy,you will be the map of the centuries-old lands,a sacred place of the Albanian earth.Your cap rises to the skyand your land will never be torn apart.