2020.11.13.
Pollute me
Tell me the tale of the date palmof the deserts,
of your grandparent's mosques.
Give me the darbuka rythms
and the secrets
that are in the books I don't read.
Pollute me, but not with the smoke that chokes the air
come, but do so with your eyes and your dances
come, but not with the rage and the bad dreams
come, but do so with the kiss-announcing lips.
Pollute me, mix up with me,
for under my branch you'll find shelter.
Polute me, mix up with me,
for under my branch you'll find shelter...
Tell me the tale of the chains
that brought you,
of the treaties and the travelers.
Give me the rythms of the drums
and the spokesmen,
of the old and the new neighbourhoods.
Pollute me, but not with the smoke that chokes the air
come, but do so with your eyes and your dances
come, but not with the rage and the bad dreams
come, but do so with the kiss-announcing lips.
Pollute me, mix up with me,
for under my branch you'll find shelter.
Polute me, mix up with me,
for under my branch you'll find shelter...
Tell me the tale of those who never
revealed themselves,
of the green river and the boleros.
Give me the bouzouki rythms,
the black eyes,
the unquiet dance of the sorcerer.
Pollute me, but not with the smoke that chokes the air
come, but do so with your eyes and your dances
come, but not with the rage and the bad dreams
come, but do so with the kiss-announcing lips.
Pollute me, mix up with me,
for under my branch you'll find shelter.
Polute me, mix up with me,
for under my branch you'll find shelter...