Zîz
Mem AraratOriginal | English translation / Wergera Englishngilîzî / Traduzione inglese /... |
ZÎZ | SENTIMENTAL |
Çi bû çi nebû, wa êşek nû bû Kevnar bû, ji kevnarên herî berê Wa xemên min, pêre ar, pêre har bûn Bênav bû Bêyî zar û ziman bû Nas bû, lê dîsa jî ew wenda bû Ez nexşeyek lal im, dibilînim, dinalim Li havînekê kerr im, zîz im, lal im Westiyayî û bêhal im Malwêranek im, xewnekê dibînim û li ber bayê dinyayekê dilerizînim Nepirsin vê sibehê, navê êşa min Sozdar e. Ez nexşeyek lal im, dibilînim, dinalim Li havînekê kerr im, zîz im, lal im Westiyayî û bêhal im Malwêranek im, xewnekê dibînim û li ber bayê dinyayekê dilerizînim Nepirsin vê sibehê, navê êşa min Sozdar e. | Was what? Wasn’t what? A new pain it was It was old, older than the oldest All my sorrow recurred, soared by it It was nameless It was voiceless It was homely but still lost I am a voicelss map, grousing, moaning In a deaf summer; I am voiceless, sentimental, deaf I am tired and exhausted I am a loser having a dream And quivering by the earth wind Don’t ask, this morning, the name of my pain is ‘Sozdar’ I am a voicelss map, grousing, moaning In a deaf summer; I am voiceless, sentimental, deaf I am tired and exhausted I am a loser having a dream And quivering by the earth wind Don’t ask, this morning, the name of my pain is ‘Sozdar’ |
Kom bû, bû derya, mezin bû şax veda Bûye ar, bûye serma, zivistan Wa xemên min li bexçe tov vedan, alan dan Ji tavê ew, ew bê par ma Lal ma, ji tavê ew, ew bêpar ma Gotin koçerek mirî xewnekê dibîne Û li ser axa sar xeman dipeyivîne Dibêje û dibîlîne Malwêranek im ez, destê min vala ma Bûme hevalê bayê êvaran, mêvanê mêvanan Nepirsin vê sibehê, navê hişbûna min Sozdar ma... Gotin koçerek mirî xewnekê dibîne Û li ser axa sar xeman dipeyivîne Dibêje û dibîlîne Malwêranek im ez, destê min vala ma Bûme hevalê bayê êvaran, mêvanê mêvanan Nepirsin vê sibehê, navê hişbûna min Sozdar ma... | Gathered, become a sea , branched out Became fire, became cold, became winter My dreams fertilized the garden, rebounded Left not taking its share from the sun Left deaf, left not taking its share from the sun There said that a dead migrant is having a dream Making the pain speak on the cold soil Saying and grousing I am a loser, there is nothing left in my hands I have become the friend of evening wind, guest of guests Don’t ask, this morning, the name of my silence is left as ‘Sozdar’ There said that a dead migrant is having a dream Making the pain speak on the cold soil Saying and grousing I am a loser, there is nothing left in my hands I have become the friend of evening wind, guest of guests Don’t ask, this morning, the name of my silence is left as ‘Sozdar’ |