Have you felt the angel weaving the coffin
As darkness was enveloping the world?
You come to me in dreams!
I travel on
the vehicle of memory
I see you
sitting in the TV hall
A cup of tea
tied to your right hand
You are following a soccer match
With passion and joy
You scream like a child if El-Khatib scores
With tricky touch
Did you really like soccer?
Or was it just a cover?
An excuse to have a conversation with me?
Something for us to talk about?
You come to me in dreams!
I see you,
father, proud
Refusing to disclose your wounds
You sit in a corner
Like a broken-winged bird
That hugs its sufferings, its fate
And waits in patience
It looks at the world
With the eyes of a traveling monk
Hating to settle down
You come to me in dreams!
When shall I come to you?
When shall I come to you?
Mawwal: A
countryside hymn with no music, sometimes accompanied by flute only.