“keep silent . . the most beautiful voice ,is the talk of your hand on the table.قليل من الصمت . . ياجاهلةفأجمل من كل هذا الحديثحديث يديك على الطاولة”

“قليلا من الصمت . . ياجاهلةفأجمل من كل هذا الحديثحديث يديكعلى الطاولة”

“Oh Jerusalem, the city of sorrowA big tear wandering in the eyeWho will halt the aggression?On you, the pearl of religions?Who will wash your bloody walls?Who will safeguard the Bible?Who will rescue the Quran?Who will save Christ, From those who have killed Christ?Who will save man?يا قدسُ، يا مدينةَ الأحزانيا دمعةً كبيرةً تجولُ في الأجفانمن يوقفُ العدوان؟عليكِ، يا لؤلؤةَ الأديانمن يغسل الدماءَ عن حجارةِ الجدران؟من ينقذُ الإنجيل؟من ينقذُ القرآن؟من ينقذُ المسيحَ ممن قتلوا المسيح؟من ينقذُ الإنسان؟”

“And I Decided (From Arabic)And I decided to goRound the world on freedom's bicycleBy ways illegalAs the travels of wind.When asked for my addressI give the address of all sidewalksI chose as permanent residence.When asked for my papers,I show them your eyesAnd am allowed to passFor they know that travel in the cities of your eyes, my dear,Is the right of all world citizens. وقررتنزار قبانيوقررتأن أطوفَ العالمَ على درّاجة الحرِّية..وبنفسِ الطريقةِ غيرِ الشرعيِّةالتي تستعملها الريح عندما تسافر..وإذا سأَلونيعن عُنوانيأعطيتُهم عنوانَ كلِّ الأرصِفةالتي اخترتها مكاناً دائماً لإقامتي.وإذا سألوني عن أوراقيأريتُهُم عينيكِ، يا حبيبتي..فَتَرَكوني أمرّ..لأنهم يعرفونَ أنَّ السفر في مدائن عينيكِ..من حق جميع المواطينَ في العالم”

“Jerusalem! My Love,My TownI wept until my tears were dryI prayed until the candles flickeredI knelt until the floor creakedI asked about Mohammed and ChristOh Jerusalem, the fragrance of prophetsThe shortest path between earth and skyOh Jerusalem, the citadel of lawsA beautiful child with fingers charredand downcast eyesYou are the shady oasis passed by the ProphetYour streets are melancholyYour minarets are mourningYou, the young maiden dressed in blackWho rings the bells at the Nativity Church, On sunday morning?Who brings toys for the childrenOn Christmas eve?Oh Jerusalem, the city of sorrowA big tear wandering in the eyeWho will halt the aggressionOn you, the pearl of religions?Who will wash your bloody walls?Who will safeguard the Bible?Who will rescue the Quran?Who will save Christ, From those who have killed Christ?Who will save man?Oh Jerusalem my townOh Jerusalem my loveTomorrow the lemon trees will blossomAnd the olive trees will rejoiceYour eyes will danceThe migrant pigeons will returnTo your sacred roofsAnd your children will play againAnd fathers and sons will meetOn your rosy hillsMy townThe town of peace and olives”

“O Sultan, my master, if my clothes are ripped and torn it is because your dogs with claws are allowed to tear me.”

“Your love taught me to grieveand I have been needing, for centuriesa woman to make me grievefor a woman, to cry upon her armslike a sparrowfor a woman to gather my pieceslike shards of broken crystal”