We grew up in a place, whose skies we always wished to be blue
Now we live in a place, where we hope the flowers remain ever green
In the distance, between borders, we left behind everything
All that soothed our pain
In our small rooms, there hang picture frames
That are not visible to the naked eye
Images of home and family dance on the ceiling
The more I search for the face of the beloved, the more I feel at loss
The scent of flowers in this pure and kind-hearted country
Can never compare to the scent of freedom from flowers of our homeland
Despite all the blessings, rain and prosperity
I cannot walk tall nevertheless
Amongst the busy and weary bees
Not one drinks the nectar of my flower
Flipping my ship, a headwind strains against favorable currents
I am like the colorful autumn leaves of this country
Which are swept away in honor of migrants
I am the Angel of Death, who this time
Breathes new life into women’s rights
Like a swift and hungry gazelle
Who has to wait for grass to grow under his feet
My story is the story of a swallow
Who does not migrate, but is forced to move
Do I deserve a simple life in this beautiful city?
Or does God grant me another war?
In this country full of small organizations
Why is there no suitable balm for my wounds?
These colorful eyes stare at me
As if I were the one to blame for all evil
The swallow lands in the beautiful subway
To find a place for take off in this land of eagles
The streets are full of people like me
Tell the big church to sing a love song!
Tell the green dome in a wooded park
This is the music that soothes my heartache
When you look around in the world
In each country, some are worse at goodness
I swear on all the beauty of this merciful land
A small chance and I will solve all the problems
Text: Mohammad Ibrahim Rahimi
Translation: Neda Hoseinyar
Proofreading: Katalin Erdödi
