My little singing bird Wherever I go I carry it within me Or rather it sits fluttering in my being
As I sit down at my desk to dream away It takes me above the valleys of Anatolia Orange groves Strawberry fields and vineyards
Sometimes it brings me a little feather, A chestnut, or a river with songs of the olden days Other times it fetches me timeless scent of blooming Damask roses fragrance of jasmine white dreams in a creeper smell of raindrops dancing in the naked earth…
where is your singing bird I asked everyone They cackled and looked at me with concern In a ring of alarm flew away to join the rat-race
In the cherry colour horizon of a faraway desert Little singing birds unfed and famished to death
