A Lorcan na gCurach and Mbo,

Below is a poem that I wrote one day during the war in Kosovo, after hearing a story on the radio about a woman who had been forced to leave her village with her newborn baby. The baby died on the way to the border and the woman had no choice but to bury the child on the side of the road in the snow.

I reacted to this story as a woman and a mother, with no political theory or side or ideal. The sorrow I felt was a culmination of the historical misery of the women and children of Ireland and the knowledge that this kind of misery is still inflicted on women and children to this day.

Before any of you fellas start slinging bad words and accusations at each other again, stop a moment and think of the ones that always suffer the most in war.

Le meas agus gach dea-ghui, Áine

Ar Bhóthar i gCósovó
le Áine Cooke

Slán leat, slán agat a stór
Caithfidh mise le gabháil ar aghaidh
Tusa i do choladh go deo
Mise 'mo dheacaireacht 'óró

Slán leat, slán agat a chroí
Béarfaidh mise d'aghaidh mar bheo
Tusa i do leachtán chomh fuar
'S mé ar mo chosán chomh corrach

Slán leat, slán agat m'anamsa
Bíodh 'fhios agat go mbeidh do scéal
I mo lámh' 's mo bhéal go dtí
An domhan ar fad bí 'd'aithne

Slán leat, slán agat a leanbhán
Coladh sámh is suaimhneach a h-óbó
Ná bí buartha mar bheidh mé
Ar ais uair inteacht a h-óró

On a Road in Kosovo
by Anne Cooke

Farewell, farewell, my love
I have to keep going on
You are sleeping forever
Oh God, I am in misery

Farewell, farewell, my darling
I will carry your face as if it was alive
You are in your tiny grave so cold
And I am on my very rugged path

Farewell, farewell, my soul
Know that your story will be
In my hands and my mouth until
The whole world knows about you

Farewell, farewell, my baby
Sleep peacefully and undisturbed, oh no
Don't worry, because I will be
Back sometime, Oh God