My People's Early Rising Poem by Jean Sénac

You were saying easy things;
the hard-working woman of the morning
the forest that grew in your voice
its trees so thick that they tear hearts apart
and know the full weight of song
the warmth of a clearing
for the up-right man who demands
a word of peace
a word of human proportions
You pulled the stalker from his solitude
who steeped in shadows kept you in his sight
the one who wants to write the way you see
the way you sing, the way you weave
and bring the others wheat
goat's milk
flour coarsely ground
and thick in the heart and strong in the blood
the kindness of everyone
and the impetuous charm of men in solidarity.
Speak oh tranquil flower weaver of hope
prelude to the barley's certain awakening
say that soon steel will reject the throat
that soon the douar will deal a blow to the night
You will teach me to think
to live as you live
Torn from the dark abode, your early rising