The lips hold the word captive,No place is found near the mother,Out of tears you built a monument,A thousand years' glory of suffering.
Wintered like the snow-capped mountains,She was left a widow, like shivering trees,A spring with no flowers and no moon,A sky of longing and exile.
Wintry is this land, without love,The weather has closed in, my home.Hands swollen from the cold water,The mother's eyes fill with tears.
She gave herself to the scorching longing,Turned it into greenery, Sun and Moon,She found the strength to rise up high,With several orphans as a burden on her shoulders.
Through tears the words pour out,As the light comes over the mountain,An assembly with honeyed kisses,The heart's wounds never close.
The mother's longing begins to speak,It becomes a path bathed in light,A mother's heart can never harm,The child she herself bears and raises.
Come back, mother, says the sigh,So you can see me one more time,So you can kiss my eyes to the sky,An emigrant through the world like a wind.
