Everything round me torn out by the hurricane
And out of me torn by the hurricane leaves and idle words.
Whirlwinds of passion hiss in silence
But peace upon the dry windstorm, upon the flight of the rains!
You, Wind, fiery and pure Wind, fair-weather Wind,burn every flower every empty thought
When the sands fall back on the dunes of the heart.
Servant, be suddenly still as a statue, children still at your games and your ivory laughter.
You, your voice be consumed with your body, the perfume of your flesh be dried
By that flame which illumines my night, like a column, like a palm.
Set my lips ablaze with blood, O spirit, breathe on the strings of my kora
That my song may rise up, pure as the gold of Gralam
