One day

The child of the star

Will grow

In the reeds

He will pour water like a light

Into the mouth of ripe dates

 

One day

He will recite

What he could

Of the verses of wounds (pain)

And he walks dressed in the clothes of a prophet

 

One day

He will put on

A mawwal

And a rhyme

That encompasses the south

Flowing water and gold (or: the messiah of water and gold)

 

One day

Neither the sun or the moon will rise

Except him, belittling

The planets and comets

 

One day

He will signal to the wind

Take shelter in my hand

There shall be no

Fear for the grapes

 

One day

He will run in all paths without caring

If the rains

Were plagued

 

One day

He will awake to a world

Teaching that the soil in the soul

Is made of gold

 

One day

He'll scream in all faces: "I"

"I am the one whose words enlighten the blind"

 

One day

He'll lay down on Gemini

up-there in the horizon like a saint

 

I say, one day, - and my oracle was right-

some prophicies in my hand, and in some books

 

A prophecy, like a child

Her doves swirl around lanterns of those who slept on tiredness

 

Me, my children and a partner

Whom I escape from and to in the hour of misery

 

We lock the door deludedly, then open it

Knowing that the door of illusion is of wood.