I will meet the sun once more,

and greet the Chehel Khana stream

that still flows within my veins—

the serene clouds of Doomordah

that once held my childhood dreams,

the growth of our garden's almonds

instilling in us the breath of life.

 

I will come to meet

those flocks of sparrows

bringing the fragrance of wheat fields

as a gift to us,

and Dahmardah's tranquil soil

whose passion drew its fiery core

from my ancestors' green seeds.

 

I will come to meet the sun once more

and greet Ammi,

who kept us in the mirror of life

when the flames of war

pushed us across borders,

the end of life.

 

I will come with my youthfulness:

scent lingering beneath the soil,

with that vision:

thick with experiences of darkness,

with the shrubs

picked from beyond the walls of wilderness.

 

I will come, but 

when Dahmardah's fields brim with love once more,

when that mother waiting at the windows

has her hair turned black,

eyes clear to see my aged face,

wrinkles smoothed

and smiles returned.

 

I will come, but 

when Ammi's tears no longer race with rivers,

when her mourning ceases with the seas

and her endurance surpasses mountains.