Mahmoud Darwish - Eleven Stars Over Andalusia lyrics

I On our last evening on this land On our last evening on this land we chop our days from our young trees, count the ribs we'll take with us and the ribs we'll leave behind… On the last evening we bid nothing farewell, nor find the time to end… Everything remains as it is, it is the place that changes our dreams and its visitors. Suddenly we're incapable of irony, this land will now host atoms of dust… Here, on our last evening, we look closely at the mountains besieging the clouds: a conquest… and a counter-conquest, and an old time handing this new time the keys to our doors. So enter our houses, conquerors, and drink the wine of our mellifluous mouwashah. We are the night at midnight, and no horseman will bring dawn from the sanctuary of the last Call to Prayer… Our tea is green and hot; drink it. Our pistachios are fresh; eat them. The beds are of green cedar, fall on them, following this long siege, lie down on the feathers of our dreams. The sheets are crisp, perfumes are ready by the door, and there are plenty of mirrors: enter them so we may exit completely. Soon we will search in the margins of your history, in distant countries, for what was once our history. And in the end we will ask ourselves: Was Andalusia here or there? On the land…or in the poem?