Muezzin

[Keit]

Just want to share with you some interesting mistake on my part.
I've been hearing recently some song on Israel radio, that I thought was about a palestinian fellow, living in an occupied area and waiting for a call from his girfriend in the middle of the night.
But, several days ago, I had an opportunity to see a video clip of this song. And apparently, this is not about palestinian, but about Israel soldier. :) Well, this is not also funny, but most interesting. Because, I was sure it's NOT about Israely. Maybe I am just too naive, but I couldn't find any difference! And this is what really killing me.

Here the translation (unfortunately without rhymes)

"Midnight at the village
Lighting up a cigarette before detention
I am at the guard and Muezzin singing from Rammalla.

Amongst people in black
There is another fence hard to cross
I am between El-hadar and Bet-jala

The refrain:

This is a midnight
And maybe too late
You are not calling
So I'll come back tomorrow
Look at the sky
They have now color of grey
Because of our situation

***

Midnight at the village
The moon lighting the time that past
Soldier praying in the alley

Smell of the fires
And again it's hard to see
That we are being followed by a screen of fog

The refrain:

This is a midnight
And maybe too late
You are not calling
So I'll come tomorrow
Look at the sky
They have now color of grey
Because of our situation

***

Just a moment before breaking down
The morning is coming and the night is over
I am coming back, and he is still singing from above. "

 

[Muhammad]

for some reason this reminds me of a song and poem written by palestinean poet Mahmoud Darwish called "Rita and the rifle",
Rita is a jewish girl he was in love with or so i think...

Between Rita and my eyes there is a rifle
And whoever knows Rita kneels
and prays
To the divinity in those honey-colored eyes
And I kissed Rita
When she was young
And I remember how she approached
And how my arm covered the loveliest of braids
And I remember Rita
The way a sparrow remembers its stream

Ah, Rita

Between us there are a million sparrows and images
And many a rendezvous
Fired at by a rifle
Rita's name was a feast in my mouth
Rita's body was a wedding in my blood
And I was lost in Rita for two years
And for two years she slept on my arm
And we made promises
Over the most beautiful of cups
And we burned in the wine of our lips
And we were born again

Ah, Rita!

What before this rifle could have turned my eyes from yours
Except a nap or two or honey-colored clouds?
Once upon a time
Oh, the silence of dusk
In the morning my moon migrated to a far place
Towards those honey-colored eyes

And the city swept away all the singers
And Rita
Between Rita and my eyes — A rifle