We are all children, little ones,
Playing with a colored ball.
We cry easily with ruddy cheeks
And then, with glowing faces
We look at silvery world,
At green hillsides,
At Life. We look ahead
We are soft deer,
Complaining to crows
We think that we live
But merely accept blows
We are all children,
Playing with the globe,
Pursing our lips
To receive our mother's milk,
We are all people,
That is, we are matter.
The millwheel of time turns
Our feathers are drying, drying.
We scrath away in the night
Over our blouses
That take away our eyes
And in the day we are only in darkness.
We are all people
Gambling for the globe,
And the globe turns in blood
And turns and turns
And we reach out
For the small lights in the night
We children, children
Of a great revolution
We want to learn
So that from the earth we might
I kiss my land and caress it,
Passing much time in its presence.
This land is not on this earth
Yet it is within us everywhere.
It is in the heavens, in the stars above,
Wherever the bird nation lives.
I see it again in my soul today,
And my heart is heavy with tears.
One day I shall fly to the heights above,
Free from my body's encumbrance,
Free in expansiveness, free in distance,
And free with me, my country.
Today it is small. A handful of dreams
Encloses its distant horizons
And through the heavy dreams
Shimmer the furies of war.
One day I shall enter my country,
I shall rejoin my motherland
There is my country! There is yours!
There is no "I" and no misery.