There is blood and sweat on the brow of the past
Iron fetters on its feet,      
A bitter smile on its lips.
What a red spirit it clashed with…


There is still occasional darkness on the horizon;
However, day follows the night…
Autumn fell in and all the orchards decayed.
Leaves turned yellow and flowers faded.

The hero died, and his steed was tired;
He had fought with a huge malicious demon.

Now even if it seems impossible for him to return, 

We’re waiting for him at rosy dawns…
The crowns that once shone,
The slopes that opened their bosoms to the crowned.

Emerald trees on golden slopes,
Reached the caravan of separation and left.


There’s a spark from that frightful extinction

There are messages in the spark from the return.

the seashell becomes treasure,

a catalyst of daydreams. Tunes

hummed by innocence reach

the seagull nearby who gives up

flight to breathe in this fresh air.

An air that only they can bear,

that we forget through years

of aging hearts.

The sand still has memory of us,

although we forget. And that starfish

under the stars awaits our return,

but we turn. Away from the past

that gave us sight into a spark

of the divine. To see creation

in its purest form, its brightest shine.

Each grain of sand will be called to

tell his story. Can you imagine?

When from the seen and unseen

Worlds come Men and Jinn.

And to be asked from such an old age,

why we could not stay like a child.

For a moment to see like a child.

To dream like a child.

To take into our heart,

the Heart of the world,

as a child does,

with every blink of existence.