ამის მადლი და სილამაზე არ დაგვიწყებოდეთ. ქვეყნის სიყვარულს საყველპუროდ და საარშიყოდ ნუ გაიხდით, სამშობლო როსკიპი ქალი არაა, მთვრალს რომ მოგენატრება და მაშინ გაიხსენებ, სამშობლო ტაძარია სალოცავი. მუხლზე დაჩოქილი უნდა იდგე მის საკურთხეველთან, ცალი ხელით პირჯვარს უნდა იწერდე, მეორეთი კი ხმალს იქნევდე, ეშმაკები რომ არ დაეპატრონონ... და კიდევ ერთი, შესაწირავის მიტანა ვერავინ უნდა მოგასწროს ამ ტაძართან.

Is one's homeland the place where a person evolves into life, or is that a choice made in adulthood, as one chooses a fateful name? Perhaps it is also your memory, Father Raven,that plays tricks on me, and the land that was given to my mind's eye is not all the homeland where our ancestors lived. Am I entitled to call my island "home," even though I do not live in it permanently? Even though from sun cycle to sun cycle it becomes more of a dream? I am flooded with another person's nostalgia, captive to the visions that insist on visiting me.

A fictitious homeland. A longed-for land that never was.
If land is not property, then anywhere may be considered a homeland, and the Jewish tribe may therefore adopt the island even without a deed of ownership. The Jew is free to settle in whichever land he desires. Why, then does he insist on drawing borders for himself, when he has already managed to obtain a measure of power that I will never achieve? Perhaps that is the Jewish tribe's virtue: they have turned their foreignness into a javelin.

اِختِلافُ النَهارِ وَاللَيلِ يُنسي اُذكُرا لِيَ الصِبا وَأَيّامَ أُنسي

وَصِفا لي مُلاوَةً مِن شَبابٍ صُوِّرَت مِن تَصَوُّراتٍ وَمَسِّ

عصفتْ كالصَّبا اللعوبِ ومرّت سِنة ً حُلوة ً، ولذَّة ُ خَلْس

وسلا مصرَ : هل سلا القلبُ عنها أَو أَسا جُرحَه الزمان المؤسّي؟

كلما مرّت الليالي عليه رقَّ ، والعهدُ في الليالي تقسِّي

مُستَطارٌ إذا البواخِرُ رنَّتْ أَولَ الليلِ، أَو عَوَتْ بعد جَرْس

راهبٌ في الضلوع للسفنِ فَطْن كلما ثُرْنَ شاعَهن بنَقسْ

يا ابنة َ اليمِّ ، ما أبوكِ بخيلٌ ما له مولع بمنع وحبس

أَحرامٌ عَلى بَلابِلِهِ الدَو حُ حَلالٌ لِلطَيرِ مِن كُلِّ جِنسِ

كُلُّ دارٍ أَحَقُّ بِالأَهلِ إِلّا في خَبيثٍ مِنَ المَذاهِبِ رِجسِ

نَفسي مِرجَلٌ وَقَلبي شِراعٌ بِهِما في الدُموعِ سيري وَأَرسي

وَاِجعَلي وَجهَكِ الفَنارَ وَمَجرا كِ يَدَ الثَغرِ بَينَ رَملٍ وَمَكسِ

وَطَني لَو شُغِلتُ بِالخُلدِ عَنهُ نازَعَتني إِلَيهِ في الخُلدِ نَفسي

Mou vlastí bylo Polsko a Vídeň, tento dům a kasárny ve měste, Halič a Chopin. Co z toho všeho zůstalo? To, co všechno spojovalo, to tajuplné pojivo už nepůsobí. Všechno se rozpadlo na částice. Mou vlastí byl určitý cit. A tomu citu bylo ublíženo.

The important thing is that I returned with a great yearning for my people in that small village at the bend of the Nile. For seven years I had longed for them, had dreamed of them, and it was an extraordinary moment when I at last found myself standing amongst them. They rejoiced at having me back and made a great fuss, and it was not long before I felt as though a piece of ice were melting inside of me, as though I were some frozen substance on which the sun had shone - that life warmth of the tribe which I had lost for a time in a land 'whose fishes die of the cold'.

For what is life but a succession of change; of one thing after another; painful beginnings, fearful setting out into the unknown, leaving what we are for what we have not yet become. We sail forth boldly, keeping a steady keel and a keen eye on the horizon, to reach islands, land whose fragrance we sniff at at the edge of our dreams; and so we sail on, hoping that the next landfall will be our own bit of earth.