Dear Macedonia, land of mountains
Land of villages
You have known wars, occupations
Bitter Church struggles and cultural pillages.
Motherland of my Father
And his Fathers before him
By inheritance you are my Grandmother
And in spirit we are kin.
Though my eyes have never seen you
Or my feet walked throughout your land
I make this promise Baba Makedonija
One day on your soil I will stand.
My Father emigrated at fifteen years of age
From you, his beloved "Stara Krai"
To the new country, language and fortune
He would himself apply.
This young Macedonian Oak
Came to the land of the Maple tree
Put down deep roots become Canadian
But in heart always Macedonian he would be.
He told me of his boyhood in Oshchima
The sheep, the wolves, the bears
Of his far traveling Father Tanas
And his Mother Dina, so loving and fair.
He taught me of the Turks and Ilinden
Of the Kumita, men brave and bold
Summers warm and beautiful
Winters long and cold.
Keeping heritage he played his violin joyously
Sunday nights with the band
As the dancers of the Oro
Enact the essence of a village
By becoming one in holding hands.
His influence of character, language, music
And fierce Macedonian pride, caused me to realize
That though Canadian, I am Macedonian inside.
By birth Canada is my land, so beautiful,
So bountiful, and culturally free
Canadian I am and Canadian proud to be
As a poet my Father taught this to me.
Macedonia I have loved all my life
With love like that of a man for his Mother
And for Canada like that of a man for his Wife.
So I love you Baba Makedonija
From a boy and to now that I am a man
For this Canadian is your Grandson
In truth and spirit I am.