The dark bird
which was killed long ago
there
in her own nest
in the middle of verdure,
in the place she was rising from
in order to devastate...

Her corps was turned into cinder
for the gardens of the world, then.
She was expected never to fly again,
never to be seen
under serene skies, again
under suns,
ready to destroy
the life of the flowers.

Here,
just here
the dark bird is coming to life.
Here,
just in our land,
in this desert
in which the flowers of Phoenix
is growing,
the cinder
bought in by the winds
is alive.