The trees listen to my song
The sky listens to my song
The land rises
Races me to the well, blesses the water.

Are those my steps on the mound or sighs of a passing gazelle?!
Come back to your home oh, steps of the wounded
Come back to your home oh, songs of the wandering poet
Come back to me
Come back to me
My heart flutters with joy
My heart flutters with fear
Come back
Come back
Come back.

There is only water in this rain
In Twebya’s rain
The drop is a body
The drop is a neigh
The drop is a house occupied by God and the prophets

The hand on the boy’s head is a mother’s hand
Warmth and life blossoms from its fingers
Where is my mother?!
Behind the window the Norwegian snow falls
Put your hand, exactly here, on my heart
Put a desert, I still dream about it in my wakefulness
Put Sabratha’s sea, that giggles whenever I stood before it and cushioned it’s threshold with my eyelashes

How can I restore what was broken of my sighs?!
And this ruin throws its dismal blanket between my feet
How can I dream without this vast expanse before me cracks?!
How!
How!

My arm is shorter than to reach those clouds!
Shame on me! Crying will fill this huge night
It won’t take more than a turn for me to see the caravan passing!

The Norwegian sun comes over every day, but it doesn’t see me
The tiled roofs are high and bleak
The little birds are not eager to sing
Only snow piles up on my porch
No smell, no sound,
No breeze blowing in the absence of longing

Silence!
I hear the sound of a drum approaching!
Its time for me to dance
It’s time for this body to shake with intimate joy
It’s time for this space to be filled with the great singing.

Oh, bird, what are you doing on top of the tree?!
Gaze far away, can you see Twebya?
Do you smell the orange blossom of my brother who boarded Orpheus’ boat?

Find my friend the hoopoe and don’t come back quickly!
Maybe he can rest under the eucalyptus tree standing on the bend of the dirt road!
Maybe now he is following the smoke of our neighbour’s tannour rising to the sky!

Oh, bird tell me about the henna tree
Is it still visited by the strange nightingale?!
Pick, no, don’t pick,
Just put your hand on its flowers
Bring me some of its heart beat

Oh, bird
I can’t bear it!
Time isn’t a friend anymore
Nothing is as it was
Or
As it should be
Oh, bird peace be with you
Fly away and don’t be afraid!