Don't say to me:
Would I were a seller of bread in Algiers
That I might sing with a rebel.
Don't say to me:
Would I were a herdsman in the Yemen
That I might sing to hte shudderings of time.
Don't say to me:
Would I were a cafe waiter in Havana
That I might sing the victories of sorrowing women.
Don't say to me:
Would I worked as a young laborer in Aswan
That I might sing to the rocks.
My friend,
The Nile will not flow into the Volga,
Nor the Congo or the Jordan into the Euphrates.
Each river has its source, its course, its life.
My friend, our land is not barren.
Each land has its time for being born.
Each dawn a date with a rebel.