Mother Gji - lan * (Gjilan)
- To Dardania – a ballad -
There was a mother, there was a sister,Soul like a river, hair of gold...She hurried through the house and hearth,The mother of King Longar.*
Whoever does not know will learnHer ancient history...Through the centuries, by word of mouth,She poured out what her soul held.
Mother Gjilania with ten sons,With ten brave swordsmen...Through the night she does not sleep,A firefly in the mountains and the fields...
Across the plain of Viti,*Along the river Ibar,*She gave her breast to her sonAnd the green of the meadow.
Along the flow of the Morava,*In the Malisheva valley,She caught the eyes of the waveAnd washed her breast with them.
She washed her milk-filled breast,Turned and gave it to her son.So he would follow only freedomIn the very hoofbeats of his horse.
Her stride was vast and long,One on the bank, one on the lawn...Through the greenery and the flameShe followed, writing history.
The mother walked, the mother ran,The thirsty son drank from her breast,The mother walked to findThe very heroes of freedom.
Her breast flowed and dripped,Her step trod across the slopes,Dusk fell here, dawn broke there,The moon hidden behind the Judas tree.
The milk fell upon a field,Became a fruit tree, a pine, an oak,Her breast, thousands of warriorsHad planted clod by clod.
Along the Agtos* the son drank (river)Your breast washed in gold,The mother ran, to arrive,And to give birth to a son again...
A son again and brave again,Her breast washed by the moon,Dardania for the battleNeeded sons for the sword and the field.
She washed her breast in a river,In a spring of gentle water,And with flour she kneaded dough,Dardanian bread just for the boys.
And behind the mother thousands of womenBared their breasts, washed their bosoms,Full of great dreamsThey followed Mother Gji - lan.
The years passed, the breasts flowedAcross the lands, across the mountains,The fields and plains gathered them roundTo multiply the warriors.
All the springs around Gjilan,Malisheva and Budiga,*Are the milk of Mother GjilanFilled with the must of the season.
At these breasts, in these landsIdriz Seferi* nursed, (hero)He had a bed and a blanketThat kept him safe from the dark.
Beautiful breast, moonlit hill,Where Kadri Zeka* nursed too, (hero)With the love that every mother gives,For freedom, death is worth it!
A mother's breast – a violet,Fragrant, like a drop of dew,It quenches vengeance and blood feuds,It grants the beautiful mornings.
A mother's breast, a sister's breast,That flows, coming from history,Holds within it the weight of the hearthAnd the birth of love...
Why did you knock on the gate today,Mother Gji-lane, what came to your mind,Your milk through their aortasAll your daughters carry.
All the sisters, all the mothers,Know your legend,So they bare their breasts like the moonAnd nurse history...
Your blood and your milkThey take and pass to the generations...To never let the desire fadeAnd to inherit freedom...
Mother Gjilane, Dardanian mother,You rocked brave men in cradles...The wind blows on that side too,Singing history among the crags...
Your silver breastWashed in the greenery of Viti...Remained a legend and a songIn the museum of history...
