Terrible times
The heart is touched by pain
asking time rather than fate:
"What has become of my brothers?
What wind has confused them
as it got inside them and dried
all love from them,
and cut all their wings?
A wind that carries hatred
and that kills the blossoming flowers."
This heart cries in sadness.
And I ask time:
What has become of all those
that went together,
soul brothers,
eager for victory?
You have to write in blood
on this scene of life
the beautiful cry of "Freedom"!
You, mother, who is by the door,
scrutinizing with tired eyes
in case your offspring arrives.
The blood has fallen to the ground,
a land that opens
with her innocent heart.
The rogue has managed,
the most tender of the youths
and your child will not return.
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Yir zman
Si leɣbayen ul-iw yuɣḍaḍ
ttreɣ zman amessas
amek teḍra d wayetma
Yewwet-d waḍu d ajenṭaḍ
yekcem-asen d afessas
tayri-nni d-ṛebban telma
Yerẓa-n deg iff er am yegḍaḍ
yerna-yasen-d aserdas
yesserwet ajeǧǧig ur yegma
Si leɣbayen ul-iw iru
ttreɣ zman ucmit
amek i d yid-sen teḍra
Yal adrar la d-iserru
ulawen gan timlilit
tikkelt-a temmed nnmara
Yak tennam ad a naru
s idammen ɣef tfelwit
tilelli tezwi tmara !
Kem yeggunin amnar
tiṭ ur terkid
ad d-yejbu umenzu n tasa
Yerwet yidim deg unnar
akal ad yirid
yefka-ken ay imelsa
Bu tirwas yurar
s temẓi ur nemmid
n mmi-m ur d-nusa
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When your memory comes to me
Oh moon, we both contemplate you:
I from this side
and her from beyond the waters.
Tell her how much I suffer as
I have my heart broken,
she dwells inside me.
I can not swallow anything
when her memory comes to me.
Our days slip away
I do not know if you realise
and with them the good times.
The love we have together
has not diminished
as it is engraved in our bones.
You are in my mind
every time your memory comes.
You are the one who taught me the facts of life
my love for you is boundless
we live in the stars.
The day we will meet again,
the banks that are now distancing us
will perish in envy.
Towards the moon I draw paths and trails
when your memory comes to me.
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Mi kem-id-mmektiɣ
Ay aggur nettani di sin
Nekk agwemmaḍ
Nettat akkin i waman
Inn-as afwad-iw sennin
Ul-iw yuɣḍaḍ
Tzedɣeḍ-iyi deg iẓuran
Ur ttafent abrid tleqqmin
mi kem-id-mmektiɣ
Ussan-nneɣ zerrin
ma yella tḥulfaḍ
ɣas ayen iɛeddan
Tayri-nni i ɣ-yezdin
ur tesmammaḍ
tewcem deg yeɣsan
Ttidireɣ s tkatutin
mi kem-id-mmektiɣ
Temmleḍ-i timeddurin
tayri-m deg-i tfaḍ
nezdeɣ ɣef yetran
Ass-nni n temlilin
cfu ula d igemmaḍ
fell-aɣ ad gen tismin
S aggur greɣ tiberdatin
mi kem-id-mmektiɣ
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The Palm
I climbed the palm
to posses her fruits.
I had everything well prepared
and on her shoulders I had carried
the war.
I was breathless
asphyxiated by her mouth.
My heart almost exploded
and flew into the sky.
I climbed onto the palm,
and melted like butter.
My hardened lap
sits within its soft tenderness;
the stake entered the soil,
that is wet on the inside,
and my eye cries
as if it were a fountain.
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Tazdayt
Uliɣ tazdayt s leḥmeq
ad d-ččeɣ deg iɛeqqayen-is
Beggseɣ tiɣelt d uberwaq
sawḍeɣ ṭṭrad ɣer yiri-s
Yak yekkaw deg-i lmenṭeq
mi d-yeččur yimi-w d imi-s
Ul-iw yedda ad ifelleq
ssuṛa-w tuff eg ur tris
Uliɣ tazdayt tḥennec-i
fsiɣ am udi n temɣart
Greɣ irebbi d aquran
tegr-d ammas d imleɣwi
Tagwersa tnuda akk tamurt
tufa ttra deg uɣurar
Tiṭ tneff eg d imeṭṭi
di tala yegr lɛinser
