Step by step the tents on the hillside
straight to the sky
nailed on the rocks
staked by stubbornness
with the harpoon of the sun in their chests.
Days come and go. The stone doesn’t change.
Sometime a ship goes by, a cloud
leaving behind it a bit of a shadow
a small window open to the trees and to time.
nor does the heart or the stone.
Stone bed where we sleep
stone bread onto which we sharpen our teeth
stone hand onto which the night steadies its chin.
The wind doesn’t blow them away.
The sundown folds its red flag;
we’ll sleep with a stone between our teeth again
with the sea nostrils close to our ears.
Whatever may come now, comrades,
will find us with a bag on our shoulders
with all our heart in the bag
whirling our determination on the oath of democracy
as we whirl our finger in the button hole of our friend’s
not that we don’t have anything to say
but because we love him so much and it’s always
when we love we can’t talk
we play with a twig of wild olive tree in our hands
we scratch a name in the soil
always the same ready, always ready
always the name of Freedom.