I am the dust in the wind and the paleness of sick bodies.
I am the infected wounds from trampling horses.
I am the sky when Fajr reaches its last glimpses.
And the Night of Loneliness when the sun sets.
I am the boy who recognized my sweetness.
But saw my sweetness less valuable than death.
I am the earrings ripped from a young girl crying.
And the burning sand which shrouds tender bodies.
Where are the lovers who know my sweet smell?
Who come running when they hear whispers of my name?
I stood alone on the sands dipped in red musk.
As the three-pronged arrows came soaring into my veins.
I am the ink which bleeds into this paper.
Like the Furat flowing into the Moon Lights' severed hands.
I am the heart beating of a patience mother.
And the alliance of the Free Man.
We are the darkness and the light.
The tasbeeh of trees, and the dhikr of birds.
Whose name you have forgotten.
Where Hal Min Nasir Yansurna is heard.
We are the children of the nameless.
Whose true name awakens the soul.
We are the fragrance of Nainawa.
We are the stories, forever told.