From an old folk song
A couple of slaves fell on the roof
Of our house in Baghdad.
They were tied with a rope,
Back to back,
Wearing torn white clothes
And weeping.
I believe they were waiting for a ship, sailed by pirates
I believe they were staring at a horizon of trees.
I believe they were thinking of a distant island.
When I climbed to them and released them from the rope
They lit up in flames in my hands
And turned to ash.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem