Where is my cradle to cry, where is my cradle, the same cradle that I dont remember, the same real and true security , the same place where the prince of the story was always a poor girl and wanted the same city that was my own height from this world, but much bigger, there was no fear of the shadow, no fear of the wind, no I would get lost, not a pigeon, where is the
strait to cry, where is the mother, where is my cradle,
dont say I grew up. Dont say that its bitter, dont cry anymore, come and take me, caress me, my heart wants a carefree embrace, buried in this autumn bed where every green breath is cut off, no one knows how hard it is to stay like a leaf on a branch,
my heart is stray to cry, where is my mother, where is my cradle,
see how easily the blossom of my attachment dies in the mind, where is that light and miraculous hand? Tell him to come. Hold my hand,
where is Maryam Naji, Maryam Pak, why does she not remember this broken body , you are in a barrage of fear and helplessness, why is her green skirt not my umbrella, I miss crying
