In the furnace of Gehenna,
the sparrows, burdened with every ill,
shall find no salvation.
They shall endure an affliction particularly cruel,
for the sole crime of existing,
and whose vernal song
constitutes an offense to their detractors.
O, may the stars never abandon them to despair, may the rising sun grant them
the hope to endure
in the blossoming of a new spring.
I hear the echo of the sunbird,
with iridescent plumage,
whose song is the source of myths.
It shall return to its tree of predilection,
in the ancestral forest
that witnessed the birth of its kin.
My bird of dilection,
fly free, then return to your sylvan realms. You shall always be loved there,
eternally cherished, and even when you are no longer of this world,
your memory shall remain engraved
in the hearts of those
whom you have enchanted
with the melody of your existence.
Younis M.