Kalimat Anghami
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White Roses

جوليانا يزبك  (٢٠١٨)

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One thousand, three hundred years
Every day, it's raining still
No one's out there in my garden
I take a seat on the windowsill
In the trees I find my comfort
Though sometimes trees, too, stand in vain
If the trees can feel my vibe
Do they know the kind of pain?
There are those who are depressed
And there are those who are oppressed
But the trees know not nor care
Which painting of them is the best
I know it's not this one, nor that
Nor that one yet
For all the mighty masterpieces
We have never seen the best
غابتي
خدي مطرح
مرايتي
خدي مطرح
شفرتي
وما في هم غير
ورد أبيض
ورد أبيض

Forests, friends, a sea of land
That once we knew, along with sand
Sometimes blue and gold and bright
But always warm like the elders' hands
It took a turn at being liked
And being bought, and being sold
Until all those who knew it once
Now sleep with their eyes covered in gold
Strange folk, they keep busy
By painting their roses red
They climb atop their towers
While we climb into our beds
For the crime of simply knowing
The sentencing is to the death
Before the white roses were planted
Our trees had never bled

Through the mist we once emerged
Into the mist we now escape
But be it here, or be it there
Some men use mist to excuse rape
As children roam, smiling and bare,
Our eyes are large, our homes are far
We have no need to cut down trees
Our hall and hearth are in the stars
Strange folk, they seek what they have not
While they see not what they do have
And I do watch, and I do wonder
Do their ancestors have no wrath?
Before the crime was simply knowing
We knew the babes, we knew the dead
Before the white roses were planted
Our trees had never bled

غابتي
خدي مطرح
مرايتي
خدي مطرح
شفرتي
وما في هم غير
ورد أبيض
ورد أبيض