Hey you, World,
You unyielding miscreant,
Nameless prophet
Who hides in nine burning bosoms
His eternal cries of sorrow
Who buried all his pearls
Under a fateful darkness, oh World,
Didn’t you push Ibrahim toward the desert
Only to be fooled for the first time:
Ibrahim began to talk
To the desert within
Oh no, World
You who casts asunder so easily
Children as if they were specks of pollen
From one corner of the age to another
And dances like the burning flames
Under a lover’s skin, thou World
That plucks clumps of people, refugees
And flings them into the sea as drifting feathers
Sent on a long and sickly journey
Full of searing hope
And endless disappointment
Burdened by their own shadow
Oh World, only to be welcomed by you on the other side
With hands full of thorns
On your gilded plate – a blighted wretch
„Wretched fate!“, the black-eyed poet once cried out
Oh World, yes ,you,
Love us
So, we could love you back
And we will love you, oh World,
We love you, we do
But, turn around
And love us back
And forgive us at least once more
Alas, we still have to get there...

Translated by Milan Damjanovski