My Homeland Is Not A Suitcase, And

The Stars Had Only One Task: They Taught Me How To Read. They Taught Me I Had A Language In Heaven And Another Language On Earth.

My Homeland Is Not A Suitcase, And I Am No Traveller

We Are Captives, Even If Our Wheat Grows Over The Fences/ And Swallows Rise From Our Broken Chains./ We Are Captives Of What We Love, What We Desire, And What We Are.

If The Olive Trees Knew The Hands That Planted Them, Their Oil Would Become Tears.

Standing Here, Staying Here, Permanent Here, Eternal Here, And We Have One Goal, One, One: To Be.