Our hope lives there,
in those big and beautiful wombs.
Sure, the injustice strikes at random
and misfortunes don’t even see the flowers.
But if from away you put a song
on the wings of a bird,
when it will come, we’ll sing
and, for five minutes, we’ll forget.
In this Strip1we, the miserable ones,
are always fighting, always flirting.
Pregnant women proudly
bear the sons of the year two thousand.
When they will be born, we’ll sing
and we’ll make love again.
The day, the sun, the fight for the land,
the iron, the fire, the sense of madness.
The night, the moon, the cold, the rest,
the hands, the lips, the breast, the hips.
Our hope lives there,
in those big and beautiful wombs.
When it will come, we’ll sing
and we’ll make again…
When they will be born, we’ll sing.
The day, the sun, the fight for the land,
the iron, the fire, the sense of madness.
The night, the moon, the cold, the rest,
the hands, the lips, the breast, the hips.
1. the reference is to the Gaza Strip