By Moustafa Rechid

The Fire of Newroz*

The dark age’s over
The age of reins
The life was founded
On these mountains
The hope of my heart
Let me kindle you
The fire of Newroz
On our pasture
You called on us
Wind of Springtime
The twenty-first
of March’s approaching
The hope of my heart
Let me kindle you
The fire of Newroz
On our pasture
Once I was
Fourteen and I
Fell in love
With the next-door lass
A vivid and sensible
Daughter of the Kurds
She felt and thought
Telling me: Oh darling
You are after my heart
Our foe is dreadful
As much as you can
In this month
Kindle the fire
On our pasture 
On the day of Newroz
Day of walk and outing
You’ll win a prize
Of two kisses
 
I betook myself
Went to mounts and valleys
Like a traveller
Like a shepherd
The hope of my heart’s
To kindle the fire
The fire of Newroz
On our pasture
It took long
To find a place
On the valley
To kindle the fire
To carry out
My heartbeat
To carry out
The hope of my heart
 
The gendarmes arrived
Gathered round
I was light
A son of the shepherd
Before they put
My hand into chains
I’d kindled the fire
The fire of Newroz
For those who waited
The fire ascended
High up and then
The light covered
The earth and sky
The next-door lass 
Saw it and rejoiced
So the desire of hearts
Reached divinities
 
The gendarmes took me
Took away my consciousness
Put me in dark
In the dungeon
My mother uttered
Fear not my lamb
For I fed you
With ewe’s milk.

 

By Xamevan (Pseudonym for Moustafa Rechid)

Berlin, 1979

*The Kurdish New Year holiday falling on 21-22 March