O Sidi-Yahya , sage of all sages,
Lend me a beautiful Houria, and a magic flute,
Wild with passion,
For tomorrow, I shall leave for the unknown
Where no one await me,
To the land where all bitter seasons vanish.
I bless the sea of flame.
This sea of carnage massacred and decapitated by the ranging
waves,
With their woeful chanting rites,
Revived my memory of that intoxicating time
Echo by echo
Orphaned since the age of three severe winters,
I was born to taste the humble pie of monotonous sufferance.
One taught me to dream,
But my nights were too ephemeral
Where foretelling stars clash with each other.
My moist voice , choking from time to time,
Grazes the empty fringe (of my throat)
Which irritates me to let go my sotto voce (suppressed)curses.
I am baptised by the foams of Mediterannean snow
And the shadows of virgin seasons.
I was taught to write the words and rhythm,
I was taught that the human pride is a voice
Tamed by the desire of succulent and poisonous feat.
My voice with ruptured flow of fluid
Which became agitated in the night
As a gush of blood,
As a relentlessly burning furnace
In the bright fires of destiny and of passion.
I was born in a labyrinth where tears and sweat clash into each
other
In a criss-crossing deluge.
I was told that my voice was like a source
Inundated by the thirsty Apocalypse.
I was born , for certain, to liberate my voice,
My longings, and my emotion.
The elders of the village N’gadi
Gave me enlightening advice
To rid of the boredom and the lingering nightmare.
I left my village without their blessings.
I left them my sac of bric-a-brac full of holes.
My only companion was a talisman with the engravings
Of the beggars of Souk-al Joutia .
I became disoriented like a lame lark.
I pursued all roads to hell and to Avatar.
A foreboding invaded me , crushing my heart
So long, the oppressive loneliness and hopelessness
Good morning, the folly of dizzy dreams.