You are the beautiful flower
From the hottest desert of Iran -
Your face is the East.
Your heart – indestructible power –
Fights to release.
Let him to run.
Your voice is a nerve from the temple to temple –
Turns into supreme art of lie.
The strings of my soul inexplicably tremble,
They ask me to die.
They ask not to save myself and my feelings,
Surrender putting my hands
And what can we have in common between us?
And our lands?
I’ll find your fingers, your look, and your hair.
I’ll follow your dreams and your mind –
Even if I will be lost on my way,
Even if I will be blind.
I’ll cross Saint Helena and Capetown,
Namib and Betpaq dala
To hear - finally – one more time-
Voila!