I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightaway I was ‘ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,
“Guess now who holds thee?” – “Death,” I said, But, there,
The silver answer rang, — “Not Death, but Love.”


Enn fwa mo ti lir parol enn poet
Ki dir lane ale, lane vini,
Sak lane amenn so kado beni
Pou ki tou dimoun, zenn ek vie fer fet.
Ler mo pans tousa dan mo ti latet,
Gargoulet kase, pa kapav tini;
Mo get mo desten, ki merit kout fwet,
Enn desten amer ar bann soufrans kri,
Lakrwa lor zepol. Mo santi deswit
Dan mo dezespwar enn Prezans mistik
Ki’nn chom mo seve, ris mwa deryer brit;
Ler mo pe debat, enn lavwa klasik
Dimande: “Ki pe amenn twa dan bit?”
“Lamor!” “Pa lamor; lamour, mo disik!”


Indeed this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow¹
To draw men’s eyes and prove the inner cost,—
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,—
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.


Sa lamour ki zordi mo gran fierte,
Ki mont depi leker ziska figir,
Depoz lor mo fron enn kouronn lor pir
Ki montre lemonn komie mo ere –
Mo lamour, mo lavi, mo destine
Pa ti pou ena okenn lavenir
Si nou lizie pa ti zwenn enn sourir
Pou fer mwa rene, montre mwa sime,
Dekouver lamour. Mo bizen onet.
Mo lamour pa finn paret zis koumsa:
To nam finn tir mwa dan rwayom bebet,
Met mwa kot twa lor tronn vennkat kara –
E si mo kontan (O nam, pa fer tret)
Se grasa twa; pa kapav viv san twa.


And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
The love I bear thee, finding words enough,
And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,
Between our faces, to cast light on each?—
I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teach
My hand to hold my spirit so far off
From myself—me—that I should bring thee proof
In words, of love hid in me out of reach.
Nay, let the silence of my womanhood
Commend my woman-love to thy belief,—
Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed,
And rend the garment of my life, in brief,
By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,
Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.


Vremem ki to’le mo trouv mo pou dir
Mo lamour pou twa, trouv vokabiler;
Tini enn flanbo dan koutvan fezer
Pou ekler to figir ek mo figir? –
Tou kot to lipie. Kouma pou ekrir
Kan lame ek lespri deryer baryer
Sakenn so kote; kouma mo pou fer
Pou kas lakle mister ar lekritir?
Preferab silans pou fam amoure
Olie koz lamour – meyer ki parol. –
Olie dir lamour, tansion mo fane,
Rakont tou soufrans ki lor mo zepol;
Martir fam soufer san kriye, plengne
Ki kraz kor madam. Tousa paret drol.


If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love’s sake only. Do not say
‘I love her for her smile—her look—her way
Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day’—
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks dry,—
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love’s sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love’s eternity.


Si to anvi kontan mwa, pa forse
Me kontan parski to kontan. Pa dir,
“Mo kontan so bote ge, so sourir,
So lespri vif ek so manier koze
Ki parey kouma pou mwa. Ekoute!
Lot zour sa ti fer mwa boukou plezir”.
Bann zafer koumsa, koko, zot pa sir;
Zot sanze, to sanze. Lerla gate
Lamour la grene. Pa vre lamour sa
Ki zis souy lizie enn leker ki tris.
Kan nepli plore lamour nepli la?
Lamour ek pitie pa dan mem lalis.
Si to kontan mwa san fer sinema
Lerla toulezour lamour pou vinn plis.


How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.


Komie mo kontan twa? Les mo konte!
Mo lamour profon, gran ek ot kouma
Mo nam ki explor fenfon mo karrma
Kot so prop lesans tous vizion Bondie.
Mo kontan twa dan aksion detaye
Lizour ek aswar, routinn ek extra.
Mo kontan twa san mo get bon pou mwa;
Mo kontan twa san rod okenn bienfe.
Mo kontan twa ar saler mo koler;
Ar inosans dan lafwa enn zanfan;
Mo kontan twa ar lamour efemer
Bann ero tret – se twa ki mo kontan
Kan ge, kan tris, toultan – si Lesenier
Permet, lamour pou pli for kan mo mor.




Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.


Rapel mwa kan mo nepli la;
Kan mo finn vinn lonbraz silans;
Kan pa pou’ena enn dernie dans,
Vire-tourne mo kol ar twa.
Rapel mwa kan dan sa ka la
Pa pou kapav fer plan davans;
Zis rapel mwa, mem si to pans
Finn tro tar pou gagn nirrvana.
Me si arive to bliye,
Apre rerapel, pa sagren:
Kan nwar ek pi antonn refren
Me fer twa rapel enn zafer,
Meyer bliye, kas enn riye
Ki rapel tou labous amer.


My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water’d shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.


Mo leker pe sante kouma’enn zwazo
Ki finn ranz so nik lor bourzon nouvo;
Mo leker kouma pie leksi sarze
Ar douser rouz bes latet ver later;
Mo leker kouma koki larkansiel
Ki navige lor lamer san danze;
Mo leker pli ere ki tousala
Parski mo Lamour finn koste ar mwa.

Ranz enn otel ar dive ek laswa;
Anpandan rido aristokratik;
Skilpte kolomb ek douser delis,
Desinn otan pan ar lizie kosmik;
Plas bann grap rezen annarzan, annor,
Feyaz varye ek bouke fler-de-lis;
Parski zordi mo selebre nesans
Lavi: mo Lamour finn koste ar mwa.


Tex sours:

Mahatma Gandhi ti apel li “Rosignol Lenn” (The nightingale of India). Li ti enn poet ki ti amenn lalit pou lendepandans so pei.


“Is there ought you need that my hands withhold,
Rich gifts of raiment or grain or gold?
Lo ! I have flung to the East and the West
Priceless treasures torn from my breast,
And yielded the sons of my stricken womb
To the drum-beats of the duty, the sabers of doom…..”


“Ena kiksoz ki to’le mo donn twa?
Resanz lenz, sereal, bizou, laswa?
Mo finn deza fann partou lor later
Trezor inestimab sort dan leker;
E bann zanfan nouri ar mo disan
Pa finn kile kan loner dan koutvan….”


Rise, brothers, rise; the wakening skies pray to the morning light,
The wind lies asleep in the arms of the dawn like a child that has cried all night.
Come, let us gather our nets from the shore and set our catamarans free,
To capture the leaping wealth of the tide, for we are the kings of the sea!

No longer delay, let us hasten away in the track of the sea gull’s call,
The sea is our mother, the cloud is our brother, the waves are our comrades all.
What though we toss at the fall of the sun where the hand of the sea-god drives?
He who holds the storm by the hair, will hide in his breast our lives.

Sweet is the shade of the cocoanut glade, and the scent of the mango grove,
And sweet are the sands at the full o’ the moon with the sound of the voices we love;
But sweeter, O brothers, the kiss of the spray and the dance of the wild foam’s glee;
Row, brothers, row to the edge of the verge, where the low sky mates with the sea.


Leve mo bann frer! Laba lalimier pe fer so sanndia;
Divan pe dormi dan lebra oror kouma enn baba.
Ramas nou lasenn, met li dan pirog pou trap nou manze
Ki pe vinn ver nou ar lamare ot. Nou pa per danze.

Pa perdi letan, anou lor vites swiv mouvman zwazo;
Lamer nou mama, bann niaz nou bann frer, bann vag nou matlo.
Kifer trakase? Lame Varrouna pe gid nou lespri;
Li chombo toufann par lake seve pou sov nou lavi.

Ala zot bon la! Lonbraz kokotie, pie mang dan lakour,
Lamizik laplaz kan lalinn sante ar lavwa lamour.
Me ankor pli bon kan vag aroz nou ar lekim sale.
Rame mo bann frer ziska kot lamer ek lesiel marye.


Beloved, you may be as all men say
Only a transient spark
Of flickering flame set in loam of clay –
I care not …since you kindle all my dark
With the immortal lustres of the day.

And as all men deem, dearest, you may be
Only a common shell
Chance-winnowed by the sea-winds from the sea –
The subtle murmurs of eternity.

And tho’ you are, like men or mortal race,
Only a hapless thing
That Death may mar and destiny efface –
I care not … since unto my heart you bring
The very vision of God’s dwelling-place.


Sheri, dimoun kapav dir to enn ti
Etensel ki vit tengn;
Enn kous kaka-vas-later dan balti
Me mo foupamal parski dan to rengn
To lalimier met marenwar touni.

Zot pou kapav dir kouma zot ole
Ki to enn karapas
Taye par divan ek dilo sale –
O mirmir delika eternite.

Mem si to mortel kouma tou imen,
Enn pov ti malere
Ki lamor dirize, ki esklav so desten,
Mo bien foupamal parski to’nn montre
Mwa lakaz Bondie ek tou so bann sen.


O YOUTH, sweet comrade Youth, wouldst thou be gone?
Long have we dwelt together, thou and I;
Together drunk of many an alien dawn,
And plucked the fruit of many an alien sky.

Ah, fickle friend, must I, who yesterday
Dreamed forwards to long, undimmed ecstasy,
Henceforward dream, because thou wilt not stay,
Backward to transient pleasure and to thee?

I give thee back thy false, ephemeral vow;
But, O beloved comrade, ere we part,
Upon my mournful eyelids and my brow
Kiss me who hold thine image in my heart.


O Zenes, mo bon dalon, pa ale!
Twa, mwa boukou letan nou’nn viv ansam.
Ansam nou finn bwar laroze tonbe;
Ansam nou finn manz fri enn lot lasam.

E kamwad foser, pa pli tad ki yer
Mo ti rev jalsa ki zame fini;
Parski to pe chal, bizen rev aster
Plezir efemer san to konpagni.

Ala mo pe rann bann serman fos-fos
Me avan to tir, mo torsenn kole,
Anbras mo lizie ek fron tris ek mos
Ki gard dan memwar enn portre presie.


TARRY a while, O Death, I cannot die
While yet my sweet life burgeons with its spring;
Fair is my youth, and rich the echoing boughs
Where dhadikulas sing.

Tarry a while, O Death, I cannot die
With all my blossoming hopes unharvested,
My joys ungarnered, all my songs unsung,
And all my tears unshed.

Tarry a while, till I am satisfied
Of love and grief, of earth and altering sky;
Till all my human hungers are fulfilled,
O Death, I cannot die!


Pa prese Lamor! Kifer to prese?
Mo pie pe ankor larg bourzon nouvo;
Mo bote akter e mo brans peper
Reponn sante bann zwazo.

Pa prese lamor! Kifer to prese?
Pa’nkor fer lakoup dan karo lespwar;
Lazwa san zwisans, sante san lavwa,
Larm ki’nn tas dan rezervwar.

Tini, tini ziska mo finn plen tenk
Ar lamour, ar douler la ek laba;
Ziska ki mo’nn gout tou bann lapeti.
Lerla matlo, vinn sers mwa.


LAMP of my life, the lips of Death
Hath blown thee out with their sudden breath;
Naught shall revive thy vanished spark . . .
Love, must I dwell in the living dark?

Tree of my life, Death’s cruel foot
Hath crushed thee down to thy hidden root;
Nought shall restore thy glory fled . . .
Shall the blossom live when the tree is dead?

Life of my life, Death’s bitter sword
Hath severed us like a broken word,
Rent us in twain who are but one . .
Shall the flesh survive when the soul is gone?


Labouzi mo lavi, lalev lamor
Finn tengn to lames san okenn remor;
Nanye pa pou redonn twa to lavi ….
Kouma viv dan nwar san mo labouzi?

Pie pipal, lamour, lamor so rankinn
Finn kraz to latet ziska to rasinn;
Nanye pa pou rann mwa mo masala ….
Kouma fler pou viv kan so pie pa la?

Lavi mo lavi, lamor so pwagnar
Finn tay-tay lekzistans, plonz nou dan nwar;
Desir-desir nou, sakenn so kote ….
Kouma lekor viv kan nam finn ale?


WHERE the voice of the wind calls our wandering feet,
Through echoing forest and echoing street,
With lutes in our hands ever-singing we roam,
All men are our kindred, the world is our home.
Our lays are of cities whose lustre is shed,
The laughter and beauty of women long dead;
The sword of old battles, the crown of old kings,
And happy and simple and sorrowful things.
What hope shall we gather, what dreams shall we sow?
Where the wind calls our wandering footsteps we go.
No love bids us tarry, no joy bids us wait:
The voice of the wind is the voice of our fate.


Kan lavwa divan dimann nou sawal
Travers lafore, sime mizikal,
Ar jal ek dolok nou marse-sante,
Zwenn limanite, zanfan mem Bondie.
Nou sant sante bann pei dan traka,
Lazwa ek bote bann fam nepli la;
Batay eroik, rwayom triyonfan,
Moman dan lazwa, moman dan tourman.
Ki lespwar, ki rev pou met dan later?
Kan divan apel santer balader,
Pa kapav atann, refiz pran enn swen:
Lavwa divan li lavwa nou desten.


Have you found me, at last, O my Dream? Seven eons ago
You died and I buried you deep under forests of snow.
Why have you come hither? Who bade you awake from your sleep
And track me beyond the cerulean foam of the deep?

Would you tear from my lintels these sacred green garlands of leaves?
Would you scare the white, nested, wild pigeons of joy from my eaves?
Would you touch and defile with dead fingers the robes of my priest?
Would you weave your dim moan with the chantings of love at my feast?

Go back to your grave, O my Dream, under forests of snow,
Where a heart-riven child hid you once, seven eons ago.
Who bade you arise from your darkness? I bid you depart!
Profane not the shrines I have raised in the clefts of my heart.


Eta rev, to finn retrouv mwa apre tou sa letan la?
Enn youg avan sa mo ti anter twa dan Imalaya.
Kifer to finn revini? Kisannla finn kas to somey?
Kisannla finn tir twa dan rwayom ble fonse san soley?

Eski to finn vinn pou kraz tou bann haarr fer ar fey sakre?
Eski to finn vinn pou farous pizon blan kontan sante?
Eski to finn vinn pou zet malpropte lor lenz nou swami?
Eski to finn vinn pou sant karrmadi zour mo chawtarri?

Eta rev, retourn vit dan to plas anba Imalaya;
Retourne kot enn zanfan leker blese ti anter twa.
Ki ti permet twa kit nik marenwar? Mo dir twa maron!
Pa vinn fer malang dan kovil beni dan fon mo profon.


O YOUNG through all thy immemorial years!
Rise, Mother, rise, regenerate from thy gloom,
And, like a bride high-mated with the spheres,
Beget new glories from thine ageless womb!

The nations that in fettered darkness weep
Crave thee to lead them where great mornings break . . . Mother, O Mother, wherefore dost thou sleep?
Arise and answer for thy children’s sake!

Thy Future calls thee with a manifold sound
To crescent honours, splendours, victories vast;
Waken, O slumbering Mother and be crowned,
Who once wert empress of the sovereign Past.


Zenes milener ki pa finn vieyi!
Ayo Magema, sorti dan nwarte
E kouma doulinn ki’nn sadi ar Li
Donn nesans grander depi vant sakre!

Bann nasion esklav ki zordi modi
Sipliy twa montre sime dinite.
Maji, O Maji! Kifer to dormi?
Dibout do mama! Zanfan pe plore.

Lavenir ar lavwa miltikolor
Finn fini proklam desten manifik.
Lev latet do Ma pou met kouronn lor
Monark ki yer ti konbat malefik.


CHILDREN, ye have not lived, to you it seems
Life is a lovely stalactite of dreams,
Or carnival of careless joys that leap
About your hearts like billows on the deep
In flames of amber and of amethyst.

Children, ye have not lived, ye but exist
Till some resistless hour shall rise and move
Your hearts to wake and hunger after love,
And thirst with passionate longing for the things
That burn your brows with blood-red sufferings.

Till ye have battled with great grief and fears,
And borne the conflict of dream-shattering years,
Wounded with fierce desire and worn with strife,
Children, ye have not lived: for this is life.


Ayo zanfan, kisasasa!
Pou zot tousa zis enn jalsa;
Enn tamasa san finision
Sote-pile ar emosion
Lor ledo enn gran larkansiel.

Zanfan, zanfan, zot pa kone;
Zot fer laplans, peyna traka.
Enn zour lemonn pou devire
E zot leker pou rod lamour.
Lerla pasion pou fer fraka.

Me kan to zwenn larm ek freyer,
Fer fas konfli kouma lanfer,
Konn douler ki desir lape,
Lerla vre lavi koumanse.




Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Bann zoli madam rod konn mo sekre.
Ni mo enn mannken, ni mo enn bote
Me ler mo koumans dir zot
Zot dir mo pe radote.
Ala ki mo dir:
Tou dan longer mo lebra,
Tou dan larzer mo laans,
Tou dan grander mo bann pa,
Tou dan kontour mo lalev.
Mo enn fam!
Gete to trouve!
Fenomenn dan fam,
Momem sa!

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Mo rant dan enn lasam
Pli kalm ki sa gate,
Dimoun dibout
Ousa azenou.
Zot antour mwa
Kouma mous-dimiel.
Ala ki mo dir:
Tou dan dife mo lizie,
Tou dan ekla mo ledan,
Tou dan kadans mo leren,
Tou dan lagam mo lipie.
Mo enn fam!
Gete to trouve!
Fenomenn dan fam,
Momem sa!

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Bann zom ‘si rod kone
Ki atir zot dan mwa.
Seye kouma zot anvi,
Zot pa reysi tous
Mister mo profon.
Kan mo explike
Zot pa konpran.
Ala ki mo dir:
Tou dan form mo ledo,
Tou dan soley mo sourir
Tou dan lelan mo pwatrinn,
Tou dan elegans mo stil.
Mo enn fam!
Gete to trouve!
Fenomenn dan fam,
Momem sa!

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Aster to konpran
Kifer mo pa bes latet.
Pa neseser sote-pile
Ousa fer tapaz.
Kan to trouv mwa pe pase
To bizen fier.
Ala ki mo dir:
Tou dan ritm mo talon,
Tou dan bouk mo seve,
Tou dan pom mo lame,
Tou dan swen mo done
Parski mo enn fam!
Gete to trouve!
Fenomenn dan fam,
Momem sa!


You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

To kapav ekrir dan to liv istwar
Tou to bann mansonz masere dan fiel;
To kapav trenn mwa dan fon to lamar
Me mo pou leve e mont ver lesiel.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

To dir mo fronte ek mo ensolan?
Kifer to manga? Kifer to ara?
Parski mo bataz kouma posedan
Ki posed karo, bato ek vila.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Kouma lalinn, soley ek lamare,
Mo pou leve, mo pou mont pli lao
Parski lespwar pa pou tom dan dilo.
Mo pou leve, mo pou monte!

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

To anvi trouv mwa axepte perdan,
Bes lizie larme, bes latet onte?
Zepol kabose, lebra anpandan,
Fatige, degoute, dezespere.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

Wi mo dinite nouri mo fierte.
Nanye pa pou sanz mo konportman.
Mo riye, sante momem vadire
Gran patron, gran misie dan tabisman.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

To kapav bles mwa ar ensilt vilger;
Sey tay-tay mwa ar terer to lizie;
Tortir mwa, touy mwa ar to dominer
Me kouma ler mwa mo pou releve.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Mo sexapil pe fatig twa?
To soke par mo deansman?
Mo fer koumadir mo waya
Dekore ar kolie diaman?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Depi kan laont ek istwar martir,
Mo vini
Depi lepase petri dan blesir,
Mo vini
Momem osean nwar, gran ek vivan
Ki gonfle, sarye lamare montan;
Ki vir so ledo ar lepok modi,
Mo vini
Rant dan gramaten merveye, beni
Mo vini
Mo sarye kiltir nou anset lwenten
Pou konstrir dime enn lemonn imen.
Mo vini /Mo vini/ Mo vini.


The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

Enn zwazo lib mont dadak
Lor ledo divan
Les kouran sarye li
Ziska rant dan bit
Lerla li plonz so lezel
Dan lalimier oranz
Pou dir lesiel net pou li.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

Enn zwazo anferme
Dan ti lakaz-zozo
Rar-rar get lot kote
Baro fristrasion
Finn tay so lezel
Amar so lipie
Akoz sa li larg lavwa.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

Zwazo dan prizon
Sant koler egi
Ki pa’kor goute
Me ki dezire
Lwen-lwen laba kolinn ekoute
Parski zwazo dan prizon
Pe sant liberte.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

Zwazo lib atann nouvo souf labriz
Divan ki sante dan feyaz
Ena bon nana pe ranpe lor gazon matinal
Li panse lesiel net pou li.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

Me zwazo dan prizon pe anter rev
Lonbraz skelet pe nouri kosmar
Lezel taye, lipie amare
Oblize larg lavwa

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

Zwazo dan prizon
Sant koler egi
Ki pa’kor goute
Me ki dezire
Lwen-lwen laba kolinn ekoute
Parski zwazo dan prizon
Pe sant liberte.

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