TELL MOZAN PLUS

"My Country.

From the lisp of the

blackbird…

From the saddening

huskiness of the flute…

From the flickering sounds of

the folk songs

From the sighs of the

minaret…

From a cloud at sunset

woven by a chimney and by

the wound of the bricks of

the decorated and widespread

villages…

From the whispers of a star

settled in our east

From a story between

a rose and a lily

From the gasp of a

woodcutter returning with a

weary axe

The sparrow is delighted to

build his nest among us

And the willow trees spin

their homes in the brooklets

Our boundaries are protected

by jasmine and dew drops

Our flowers are blossoming

like coloured thoughts…

In my country the rocks are

in love, and the vines

are addicted

Our country was there… and

all times came after it."

– by Nizar Qabbani, 

– translated by Norma Medawar