If I’m like you and you’re like me
Why can’t my wings fly over your land?
Why are my hunger and thirst judged when they just need to be quenched
and I try to quench them through my efforts?
Why does my look offend and why is my song an insult to your ears?
I’m just a wounded eagle
who had to leave his nest to avoid dying in a hail of bullets
and with each flap of my wings I fight day by day to survive in the open, impartial sky
Don’t get angry if I try to cross your mountains,
breathe in the scent of the flowers of your fields
or perch by your side in the raw, ravenous winter.
Do not answer my pleas with contempt.
Every night I dream of my people,
and my dreams are a delirium sprinkled with memories.
Every day comes new hope to return to where I come from
I only ask you for some time
and maybe, if you like, at some point,
to get to know each other.