# Kultura > Letërsia shqiptare > Krijime në gjuhë të huaja >  Kostandini & Doruntina (ne Anglisht)

## Leila

*Duke lexuar tek forumi Folklori Shqiptar >Ballada per Doruntinen (thanx 2 Shigjeta), mu kujtua nje shkrim qe e kam shkruajtur disa vite me pare kur kisha filluar gjimnazin. Eshte perkthimi ne Anglisht i legjendes se Kostandinit & Doruntines (variantin qe di une). Injorojini ca gabime pasi nuk e kam rregulluar. E kam marre kopje sic e kisha shkruar atehere.*

I.

The legend begins in Albania, a land far, far away,
hidden behind the mountains and valleys,
where there was a widow that lived by the bay.
She had ten children: nine boys and one girl,
whose forehead was decorated with a pretty curl.
The boys grew tall, handsome and strong,
and the girl learned how to sing a song.
She laughed and played with them and her dear mother
but Kostandin always was her favorite brother.
Kostandin was the youngest one of them all,
he loved Doruntina way before she could crawl.
She grew up to be beautiful and fair,
she had golden curls for her hair.
Like twin stars her clear blue eyes shone,
you'd say she belonged on a queen's throne.

II.

Many men came to ask for her hand in marriage,
bringing in expensive gifts and beautiful carriage.
Naturally, Kostandin, being the protective older brother,
kept saying "They're not good enough!" to his saddened mother.
Then one day, a tall, dark and handsome man came from a land far away,
Doruntina liked him, "Please, let him be the one!" she started to pray.
Like any brother, carefully and harshly Kostandin looked at him, head to toe,
"Relax!" the man said with an unarming smile, "I'm a friend; not a foe."
Then Kostandin tested his conversational skills,
whose perfection gave Doruntina the chills.
Of course later, he tested his knowledge,
in everything you guys now learn in college.
Everything went completely smooth; this man had it all,
money, jewelry, looks... knowledge, too, if you'd recall.

III.

Finally, slightly annoyed, Kostandin turned to his mother,
"I have to be honest, I can't turn down one after another.
I choose this man to give Doruntina to.
I think she likes him, don't you?"
His mother then said with sad eyes,
"O son, right now, you're not being wise.
Suppose I need my little girl with me,
for all the future rough times and jubilee.
Doruntina... she'll be so far away from my hand,
please, Kostandin dear, try to understand."
"Mother," Kostandin said, "don't you worry at all!
The distance between you and Doruntina will be so small.
Whenever you need her for happiness or times that are sad,
I'll get my horse and bring her to you! It won't be so bad!"
Mother then gave up and gave Doruntina's hand,
to a man Kostandin trusted, but that lived in another land.

IV.

Three years hadn't yet passed after this when Albania, this land, was at war.
The enemies had killed the brothers, one by one, till there were no more.
The mother buried them in the order of their ages with tears in her eye.
She burned her colorful clothes and to her sons she said "Goodbye!"
The sorrowful mother, painted her house and started to dress in black,
in the midst of her suffering, hoping her sons would be back.
Surrounded by black walls to remind her of that day,
when her life stopped being happy like in the month of May.
She then went to her each son's abandoned grave,
all of them, patriots of their land, so strong, so brave.
She lit a candle on each man's stone,
suffering and crying, all alone.

V.

But on Kostandin's stone she lit two candles that shone bright,
"Kostandin," she said, "I let my little girl go, that was not right!
But you convinced me you'd bring her to me,
for future bad times or jubilee.
I should not have done what you wanted me to do,
that was wrong, I should not have listened to you.
You gave me your word you'd bring her to me,
if I needed her for good times or jubilee..."
Then she left and went home crying,
cursing her son for carelessly lying.
Midnight, when the mother was gone, 
Kostandin rose from his dusty tombstone,
which turned into a horse for him to ride.
He definitely looked like some who had just died.

VI.

Kostandin got on the horse and rode away,
till the darkness of the night turned to day.
He then quickly arrived at his little sister's door.
Doruntina gasped at sight of the brother she used to adore.
"Come on, Doruntina, we have to go! I came for you.
There is something mother needs us to do!"
But Doruntina, still in shock, wondered what clothes to wear.
If mother needed her for good, she'd put jewelry on her hair,
and if she needed her to share her pain,
she'd wear black clothes, old and plain.
And she could not just leave like that,
the village would think of her as a little brat,
and the ladies would tease her man,
harshly saying that his little wife ran.

VII.

Kostandin waited for his sister to leave her husband a note,
saying she was at her mother's. She then put on her coat,
and ran outside, where her brother was impatiently waiting.
She'd ask him why, but she saw he didn't feel like debating.
The way home was quiet and such a bore,
Doruntina could not bear it anymore.
She then started noticing things about her brother,
and asking questions about their beloved mother.
"Tell me, brother dear, why are you covered in dust?"
"It's nothing, really. Just dirt brought by the wind gust."
As they were riding in silence that broke Doruntina's heart,
they passed by some birds singing in skillful art.
"Oh, Oh, Look who goes by, a live girl riding with a dead man."
"Can birds sing in human voices?" she asked. "Yes, they can,
but pay no attention to them. They're just singing old tales."
Kostandin carefully tried not to get into details.

VIII.

"Go ahead, sister dear, go home!" Kostandin said,
"I'll be here for a while to pay respect to the dead!
Go on! Don't worry, Doruntina, I'll be right there."
Kostandin then went to the cemetery along with his mare,
and Doruntina went home (she remembered the way).
When she saw the house, all black and it was starting to decay,
she ran to the door and knocked so mother could hear.
"It's me, Doruntina! Open the door, mother dear!"
"You? Doruntina?" the old woman cried,
thinking that whoever was there had lied.
"You're no daughter of mine, you're the Devil, that's come for me.
Took my sons and daughter away and still not satisfied. Can't you see?
I'm old and tired, my family's dead, but you still come for more."
"O Mother of mine, what are you saying? Open the door!"

IX.

Doruntina tried to make her mother believe,
that she was not the Devil trying to deceive.
"So tell me then, if you're my little girl, who brought you here?"
the mother asked, hands shaking with fear.
"Kostandin, mother, he brought me on his mare.
He was in such a hurry; he didn't let me prepare."
The mother then, dropped her knees on the floor,
you could hear her from the other side of the door.
"Kostandin, you said?
Don't you know he's dead?"
"No, mother, he's alive. In fact, he's at the cemetery, said he'd be back."
By this time, the mother must have thought this girl was on crack.

X.

"Mother, he came and brought me in a hurry on his mare.
I thought it was strange, but to ask questions, I wouldn't dare!"
Doruntina kept insisting that her brother was back.
"It was him... strong, blue eyes, hair: jet black."
The mother then felt death creeping up to her so strong,
she was going to die, it wouldn't be too long.
"Kostandin died three years ago,
and was buried three meters below..."
The old and tired widow then opened the front door,
and mother and daughter, both fell dead on the floor...

This legend shows the promise this young man made,
and how he wouldn't allow even death to let it fade...

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## MI CORAZON

Kaq e vogël ti Leilaje e shkruan kaq bukur...pale kur të bëhesh e madhe...:)
Të lumtë !

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## Leila

Eh Mi Corazon... s'jam per shkrimtare une, po megjithate, flm :)

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## *~Rexhina~*

Are you kidding me? E ke shkruar ose perkthyer shume bukur, good job girl!

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## Leila

Te falenderoj Ana18 :)

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## Reina

lejla komplimentet e mia mu rrengjeth mishi kur e lexova.. te njejtet ndjenja provova si heren e pare qe e kisha lexuar ne gjuhen shqipe.. me vertete e ke perkthyer shume bukur.. bravo!!

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## shigjeta

Eshte veshtire qe te perkthesh nje histori ne nje gjuhe tjeter dhe te rruash te njejtin emocion si ne origjinal. Po mendoj se e ke arritur. Leila te lumte dora!

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## Leila

Nuk u shkruajt kjo per te gjithe qe te lexonin Kostandinin & Doruntinen ne Anglisht. U shkruajt per motren time me te vogel. E kam thene dhe me pare qe s'jam shkrimtare, dhe nuk perpiqem te shkruaj. Mendoj qe te jesh shkrimtare eshte pune e veshtire, dhe *quite frankly* jam dembele.

Megjithate, ju falenderoj te gjitheve per komentet tuaja :D

*P.S.:* Kulla, isha 14. Give me a break!!! People can grow a lot in just 4 yrs :) (kurse une u rrita 2 centimetra... :( not bad... not bad at all per mua...)

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## Neandertal

Nje perkthim ne kete menyre, per mua s'eshte thjeshte te njohesh mire gjuhen e huaj.Mendimi im eshte se duhet bote shpirterore dhe pse jo edhe inteligjence.

Qeke e keqe ti Lejla :)

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## Leila

Pse e keqe, Neandertal? Ne letersi gjithnje na kane thene shpjegoni c'do fjali qe thoni.

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## Diabolis

Perfect!

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## Leila

Perfekt nuk eshte, por me pelqen qe ma ben qejfin :D

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## edspace

Ja ke rruajtur të gjitha vlerat edhe pas përkthimit. Ne Shqiptarët e lexojmë dhe na vijnë fjalët e Shqipes në mëndje dhe mbase kjo na bën të rrënqethemi por gjithësesi mendoj së është përkthyer shumë bukur. Tani, duhet ta bëjmë publike tek të huajt dhe të shikojmë reagimin. 

Urime!

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## Viki

Leila me kenaqe... Dhe boll u solle shume modeste.. se e dime, qe je shume e talentuar... 
Muah, Viki

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## Dita

E mora si keshille te ndalja e te lexoja ne kete teme. Tani qe mbarova mund te them se ishte keshille me vlere. Te lumte dora!

Po me ciklin e kreshnikeve a mundesh ta besh dicka te tille? Materialet i ka vene ne dispozicion Shigjeta tek foklori.

Gjithe te mirat!

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## xxxl

na le me goje hapur po une u mundova shume dhe vetem gjysmen kuptova ti e di qe une nuk e thek edhe shume anglishten

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## Leila

Edspace, te huajit e kane lexuar :) dhe ky shkrim eshte copyrighted, por ne e ndjejme me shume pasi na kujtohen emocionet kur e kemi lexuar per here te pare, si femije. Une, nje here, kisha frike ta shikoja ne tv apo ta lexoja pjesen kur Kostandini del nga varri (ve re sa shpejt e kalova ate pjese tek poema)... apo kur kendonin zogjte ne rrugen per ne shtepi. Prekesha tek pjesa e fundit... dhe me bente krenare qe isha Shqipetare. Ndihesha dhe keq perbrenda se s'ndihesha qe i kisha keto virvytet e Shqipetarit, sic thoshte libri. LoL!

Viki & xxxl, flm shume :)

Dita, Mujin & Halilin e lexoja shpesh, por kane kaluar shume vite. Mbaj mend, ama, qe preferoja Mujin. Kurse Halili s'ma mbushte syrin. LoL! E lexova "Ciklin e Kreshnikeve" te Shigjetes, por edhe pse e kuptoj historine dhe cfare ndodhi, nuk i kap dot te gjitha fjalet pasi jam mesuar me gjuhen letrare :^naterres

N.q.s. ndo njeri ketu do e merrte mundimin te ma shkruante permbajtjen apo outline, atehere mendoj se mund ta perkthej Mujin & Halilin.

Edhe 1 here, flm te gjitheve.

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