Were I to write my story in black and white
Scheherazade would awaken
And Shahryar would weep over her.
I am the child of the stone,
I am the son of bitterness,
I am in every neighborhood.
I wrote my story with my blood on the ground.
Oh, land of peace, bear witness,
They made my body the target of their shots,
They prepared massacres for the innocent,
They allowed themselves to spill blood,
To demolish homes and kill women,
They forbade prostration for the Lord of the heavens.
How numerous my people are, if only they gathered their strength,
But the hand of the aggressor divided them.
Will I meet you tomorrow, oh tomorrow’s dawn?
Or will I meet you tomorrow, oh tomorrow’s dawn?
There is no need for me to tell you what happened,
For you are lost in the sea of slumber,
Like statues in your pursuit,
Neither ears hear nor eyes see.
Translated from Arabic by Aomar Boum