I have never asked you,

What your father was thinking about

When he crossed the boarder_

In one hand( arm) he held you,

And with another (hand) he rolled the only frayed( threadbare) suitcase.

I never asked you,

What is the feeling like,

When your surname tells you one thing

And in the passport the surname column _ (says)another(thing).

You were always carefree and happy,

You had light ( bright) eyes and when you smiled at me,

I could not see in them any of your motherlands_

Only I was visible.

And I , at this time, watched with the tears in my eyes

How the alien airplanes flew over my mountains

And I told you that there is no happiness anywhere,

But only in your own home,

Only with your own people,

That the happiest death is

The death in the mountains of your country,

The unhappiest is to die under other country’s banner(flag),

That abandoning your motherland is the same,

As to dig out the body of your newly buried father,

Selling of flesh,

Hanging the bones on the(your) back and walking from door to door.

I am telling you,

That the taste of water is different at ours( in my motherland),

 

Even then when

You often have to dissolve tranquilizer in it and drink it,

And once to drink so much

As to never wake up again.

Always when I told you ( story) about my country(motherland),

My eyes were wide open

And you saw in them my only country there.

We both simply forgot somehow_

I am short sighted,

That’s why I never noticed the dirt

Brought by the sea waves, (the dirt which follows the sea)

The abysses ( precipices)_ between the mountains,

That’s why I never told you,

That in reality,

My motherland’s turquoise and emerald ( colours) wore out long ago,

And now they don’t shoot into the target(bull eye) anything so well

As saliva and mud,

That my motherland is a cannibal plant,

Which first gobbles ( wolves us down) us up together with the bones,

Then she cannot digest us and spits us out,

That sometimes the air is so heavy here,

As if the big stones torn from the rocks

Fell onto your chest,

Onto your shoulders,

As if you have thrown the whole mountain onto your back,

You crawl, you lug it and you cannot thrust it to anybody_

This mountain is called your motherland too,

Nobody will give you a hand( help you).

I have never told you either

That here many more die from the blind bullet

Than on the battle field,

And at the end the soil of motherland thrown on the chest of each of them,

Is not light,

But heavy as a wheel of fortune.

I have not told you that love here is sometimes a shame(shameful),

Especially if you are a women and love him loudly,

Here love does not look like a stretched field with daisies,

Where both skin and earth breath,

Love in my motherland is so strange and awkward,

Like the paths in our mountains,

Where only sheep and wild goats can pass.

Look at me!

I am telling you again about my motherland,

I am telling you a different story,

I am telling you how they sat me back to front on the ass

And lugged me from village to village,( nata- a tradition to sit an unfaithful wife or woman on the

donkey and take a donkey around the village while people throw at her mud and stones)

How my foot fell into the hole(crevice)

And because nobody helped me,

How I cut off my foot and saved myself.

I am telling you how he does not love me,

 

The one I love with the different part of my heart instead of you,

I love him more loudly than it is allowed,

More bravely than my female headscarf give the me permission.

I stand alone on the empty square of my town

And I am telling you from the distance,

That I realised now that I have never had my home(house)

And this raging mountain torrent which flows in the street,

Is nothing but my tears,

Which I saved to please my step mother

And at the end, because I did not have enough of the dish,

It came out and washed away the part of the world of one sinner.

Look at me!

I want to ask you,

When I left you at the airport of our town covered in snow,

I left you so that I did not even thought to look back,

Why did not you follow me

Why did not you take my hand

And why did not you tell me,

That sometimes the freedom is what(something)is without motherland

And that I should have loved you more than my land,

Which did not accept me,

It buried me and then,

Because I lay heavily on it,

It spat me out.