The Clouds The clouds of the first night Of the month of Muharram in the city accumulate! So rub the face of the nights And give us a smile, Maybe we can forget our sad nights! O our endeared mother, Did we agree in viewpoints? Or perhaps the lands of this world are so vast, Yet they are too narrow for us! Grudge made the horizon too narrowed for us, No more has it granted us the right of political asylum! Rather political asylum is no more our long-sought goal. O moment of displacement, excuse me! I forgot my credentials, my identity card Entry and exit stamps are all what I miss! All attendees are now stunned, For I'm the clown, and usurer, The hypocrite and born loser! I took out a cigar and promised and a matchstick, To lit, rather set ablaze the homeland! What could I say? O my cousin try to abort words at once! This is pseudpregnancy; Doctors mentioned in their reports That our years remained besieged From exile to exile; And your lifetime in exile! Maybe I'm getting longer I suffered for long From glowing lavas! For a thousand years, We have been suffering, As we wilted, While I am here in the land, Scorching my suit with blazes Of vexation! O bearers of wounds, Be gentle to my wounds, Possibly they are blemished with nostalgia or sweat! Dust stands on the minarets of my village Yet, the voice of the muezzin is throttled! We always knew that the life is born from death, So let’s die! Possibly we’ll die burnt, or drowned! It is my mother's voice coming From the interrogation room blossoming! Whenever the whips flog her, The sun looms on the horizon O my mother, grieve not! Rather sparkle in the torture room For our torture is the reason for survival! That will give us the fragrance! Drizzle and pour forth over the meadows, And sail in death, For our death brings life For the loyal ones!