There is a wall, a wall that has been around for a lifetime, there is
always a dead end, there is nothing on the other side,
on the side we are all black and on the other side we are all white,
on this side we do not have roots, on the other side we cut the roots
, if our eyes were not separated from the wall of the house,
an old fig tree, everything would not be ours, it would not be enough
that we did not live, we are not afraid of dying, we
do not have time to grieve, we do not have time to grieve,
we gave a piece of soil for it
, we gave our whole world for the smell of wheat. We gave our things,
no one has taught us to see our laughter,
its not just the pain of the homeland, we are in exile, this is it, here
and there, the wall of our pain is still the same,
our anemone, our pain is from ourselves,
in all our memories, the right of the enemy is dead,
no one has even taught us the path of enmity
, a wall, a wall that has been around for a lifetime,
its light is always deadlocked, it has nothing
to do with the torment of this tribe, we have all cut blood from each other, we
dont have a sense of inbreeding because We saw our tribes,
we who reached each other in our whispers, hey,
someone remind us when we reached each other,
in the onslaught of so many words, every answer is a fall,
say whatever you want, I am the stronghold, silence
