My great grandfather

Orders me not to stay awake late

Not to loiter at the street corner

Waiting for ‘Donya’

The beauty of the district

Passing by me

I get drunk from her scent.

My great grandfather

Orders me not to peep at her

When, on the roof of her house,

With her soft hands

She stretches a clothesline

To hang her laundry

She sits, relaxed

Exposing her legs

Absent-minded, singing:

‘Fire! Fire!

Your love is fire!’

To my great grandfather

I’m not the favourite one

But I always come to him

I kiss his right hand.

In silence, I sit between his hands,

A child,

I don’t dare to look in his eyes

I ask for candy

He gives me some

I complain about the kids of our lane

He keeps his silence

It thunders in my heart:

No justice today!

Today, the scale broke

And the snake ate the sparrow

And my great grandfather’s status

No longer has authority

Nothing remained today

But ‘Donya’

The beauty of the district

On the roof of her house singing:

‘Fire! Fire!

Your love is fire!’

Nothing today but

A noble’s sorrow

Learning from a prophet’s sorrow

Who bemoans his lack of power

He hears the god of the house saying:

‘You are not dear to us!’

Tears flood his eyes

And fire blazes on!

And fire blazes on!