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Items below are bookmarks for the lyrics and music. Click on the bookmark for full title and text. Then click on the title to listen to the song. (The interpretation of songs from Arabic is not intended to be a poetic rendering or a literal translation but an attempt to approximate the sense of the songs in English; songs interpreted by Basem Ra'ad.)

.Risalet mub'ad, Letter of an Exiled
(song by Sabreen; lyrics by Hussein Barghouthi)
Your eyes are a field of lilies in sunset.
I am delirious, I perspire before you, and say:
Farewell, we'll meet one day.

Your hands are as rains on flowers on a mountain--
overlooking our window,
and I am a gray flock of young partridges,
passing over the valleys, flying toward you,
until the waves end.

Your eyes are purer than fire
in the entrance of a cave in winter.
Your eyes are purer than fire
in the entrance of a cave in winter.
I come to you as a song,
or a sail on a river bank.

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Muazzen (call for prayer) and Gregorian Chant

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Oummi, Mother
(song by Marcel Khalifa; lyrics by Mahmoud Darweesh)
I yearn for my mother's bread.
for my mother's coffee.
for my mother's touch.

I yearn for my mother's bread,
for my mother's coffee,
for my mother's touch.

And childhood grows in me
one day upon the breast of another day.
And childhood grows in me
one day upon the breast of another day.

I love my life because to die would make me
ashamed of my mother's tears.
Ah, my mother's tears.

Take me, mother, if I return one day,
as a scarf on your shoulders,
and cover my bones with grass sanctified by your heel.
And tighten my bonds with a lock of your hair
or a threat waving from the tail of your dress.

Perhaps I will become a god, a god become,
perhaps I will become a god, a god become,
if I touch the depth of your heart.
Mother, mother, mother, mother,
mother, mother, mother, mother.

Place me, if I return,
as fuel in your clay oven
or a clothes line on the roof of your house.
Place me, if I return,
as fuel in your clay oven,
as a clothes line on the roof of your house--
because I am unable to stand
without the prayer, the prayer of your day.

I have grown old,
so give me back the stars of childhood.
I have grown old--
give me back the stars of childhood
so that I can share with the young birds
the path of return to the nest of your waiting.

Mother, mother, mother, mother,
mother, mother, mother, mother.

I yearn for my mother's bread,
for my mother's coffee,
for my mother's touch.

And childhood grows in me
one day upon the breast of another day.

I love my life because to die would make me
ashamed of my mother's tears.
Ah, my mother's tears.
Ah, my mother's tears.

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Perfect Sense
(song and lyrics by Roger Waters and Rita Coolidge)
The monkey sat on a pile of stones
And he stared at the broken bone in his hand
And the strains of a Viennese quartet
Rang out across the land
The monkey looked up at the stars
And he thought to himself
Memory is a stranger
History is for fools
And he cleaned his hands
In a pool of a holy writing
Turned his back on the garden
And set out for the nearest town
Hold on hold on soldier
When you add it all up
The tears and the marrowbone
There’s an ounce of gold
And an ounce of pride in each ledger
And the Germans killed Jews
And the Jews killed the Arabs
And the Arabs killed the hostages
And that is the news
And is it any wonder
That the monkey’s confused
He said Mama Mama
The President’s a fool
Why do I have to keep reading
These technical manuals
And the joint chiefs of staff
And the brokers on Wall Street said
Don’t make us laugh
You’re a smart kid
Time is linear
Memory’s a stranger
History’s for fools
Man is a tool in the hands
Of the great God Almighty
And they gave him command
Of a nuclear submarine
And sent him back in the search of
The Garden of Eden.

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What God Wants
(song and lyrics by Roger Waters)
Do you believe in a better day
Do you have faith in a golden way
If you do then we must come together this day
Come together as one united
Television audience
Brought together by the sound of my voice
United united financially united socially
United spiritually and all possible ways
Through the power of money
And the power of your prayers
What God wants God gets God help us all
God wants dollars
God wants cents
God wants pounds shillings and pence
God wants guilders
God wants kroner
God wants Swiss francs
God wants French francs
Oui il veut des francs francais
God wants escudos
God wants pesetas
Don’t send lira
God don’t want small potatoes
God wants small towns
God wants pain
God wants clean up rock campaigns
God wants widows
God wants solutions
God wants TV
God wants contributions
What God wants God gets God help us all
God wants silver
God wants gold
God wants his secret
Never to be told
God wants gigolos
God wants giraffes
God wants politics
God wants a good laugh
What God wants God gets God help us all
God wants friendship
God wants fame
God wants credit
God wants blame
God wants poverty
God wants wealth
God wants insurance
God wants to cover himself
What God wants God gets God help us all.

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Stripping False Olive Branches
(song by Marcel Khalifa; lyrics by Mahmoud Darweesh)
Let come what may:
I must reject death
and burn the tears of sentimental songs
and strip the olive tree of all false branches.
If I am singing for the possibility of joy
behind lashes of fearful eyes,
it is because the storm promises me wines
and new toasts and rainbows--
and because the storm has swept
the noise of lazy birds and the fake branches
from the upright tree trunks.

And let come what may:
I must find pride in you,
wound of the city,
you the portrait of lightning in our sad nights.

And let come what may:
I must find pride in you,
wound of the city,
you the portrait of lightning in our sad nights.

The street frowns in his face.
The street frowns in his face, Ah.
The street frowns in his face.

You [wound] shelter me from
the shadow and the hateful looks.

I will sing, I will sing,
I will sing to joy
(tralalala tralalala ...)
behind lashes of fearful eyes,
since the storm erupted in my country
promising me wine and new toasts and rainbows--
and because the storm promises me
wine and new toasts and rainbows.

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Zourouni kul sana marra, Visit me Once a Year
(song by Fairouz; lyrics by Sheikh Sayyed Darweesh)
Visit me once a year.
It's unfair of you to forget me altogether.
It's unfair of you to forget me altogether.
Visit me once a year.

Visit me once a year.
It's unfair of you to forget me altogether.
It's unfair of you to forget me altogether.
Visit me once a year.

My worry is about whoever greeted you in the evening,
made you forget me, and made you cruel.

I shall never in life forget you.
It's unfair of you to forget me altogether.
It's unfair of you to forget me altogether.

Visit me once a year.
Visit me once a year,it's unfair.

Visit me, it's unfair, it's unfair, it's unfair.

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Jaay el-hammam, The Doves are Coming
(song by Sabreen; lyrics by Hussein Barghouthi)
Your food is locust dipped in a bit of honey.
Your dress is jute and camel hair.
Your path is laid with thorns and only a few flowers.

You are a moon on a border--
a prophet evicted--
a voice calling in the wilderness.

Widen the pathways for the gazelles of love and peace:
The doves are coming from the moutain.
The doves are coming.

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Traditional instrumental music
(music by Anwar Ibrahim)

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Sanarjiou yawman ela hayyena, One Day We Will Return to Our Neighborhood
(song by Fairouz)
We will return one day to our neighborhood
and wallow in the fulfillment of our wishes.
We will return no matter how long time passes
or how much distance separates us.

We will return one day to our neighborhood,
and wallow in the fulfillment of our wishes.
We will return no matter how long time passes
or how much distance separates us.

Heart be patient,
do not rush deluded into the path of our return.
Heart be patient,
do not rush deluded into the path of our return.

It is dearer for us that first should return
the flocks of birds and the rhythms of songs.

There, beyond the hills are hills
that sleep and wake upon our pledge.
There, beyond the hills are hills
that sleep and wake upon our pledge.

And people who are love spend their days quietly waiting in sad song.
The willows that fill the fields as far as the eyes can see
bend to the water.
The flowers in their shade imbibe the scent of calm
and the essence of joy.

We will return, the nightingale told me
when we met at a bend in the road.
We will return, the nightingale told me
when we met at a bend in the road.
He told me that all the song birds
still live there singing our poetry--
that there is, in the hills of our nostalgia,
a place for us still.

O heart, no matter how winds have scattered you,
come so we can return. Come let us return.

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'An insan, About a Human Being
(song by Sabreen; lyrics by Mahmoud Darweesh)
They placed chains about his mouth,
they tied his hands to the rock of death,
and they said:
You are a murderer.

They took his food, his clothing and his banners,
then threw him into the dungeons of the dead,
and they said:
You are a thief.

They banished him from all harbors,
took away his little darling,
and said:
You are a refugee.

You, with the bleeding eyes and bleeding palms,
your night would not last.
No interrogation rooms would remain--
and no links on the chain.
Nero died but Rome did not--
its eyes stayed on to fight.

And the seeds from the ear of wheat
die
only to fill the valley
with new ears of wheat.

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Traditional oud music
(music by Anwar Ibrahim)

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An-nouri, The Gypsy
(song by Sabreen; lyrics by Hussein Barghouthi)
My origin is gypsy
my profession is dancing.
My profession is to entertain the sorrowful.
I read palms for a piaster and a half
and tell the fortune of the downtrodden.

A long sitting, smoking my water pipe,
I elbow-lean near the fire.
The fire rises in the middle of the night.
My bread comes by the sweat of my brow.
I don't rule others or steal horses.

My profession is to dance a step and a half.
My beard is long--
it supports a family,
and the prettiest girls are gypsies.

I live on antique things,
I sell horses and old coins,
silver bracelets and folktales.

I have stood at prison gates--
danced and felt fear and said:
It'll ease.

My roots are gypsy.
This is my fate.
I read fortunes from people's palms.

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Ramallah 1989
(song by Sabreen; lyrics by Hussein Barghouthi)
Many times I walk alone in the midst of night--
night like a river.
My hand in my pocket,
I either whistle or smoke
out of silent anger.

All the city is shut--
no one
except emptiness and the military,
nothing except the wind
playing the city lights
or locks of hair.

I pause by the wall
my chin on my hand.
I pause and think how
all that remains of life is but a month.
And yet still I walk, whistle or smoke--
out of silent anger.