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From: hbokure@aol.com
Date: Tue May 31 2011 - 21:56:45 EDT
Dear friends,
It is not easy to translate wedi Tuquabo's relic into English due to its symbolic, metaphoric and stylistic genres. However, using free translation, I have tried my best to introduce his song to English-speaking Eritreans most of whom born in the Diaspora. Your comments are welcome. At this point, I am very grateful to the staff of alenalki.com who made available the Tigrigna version via their web site. As usual, I miss his lyric lack of proper hearing.
Haile
My Country
Dear mothers……
Say: “hallelujah, hallelujah!” *
My country damsels
Say: “hallelujah!”
Rejoice! Rejoice!
With frenzy jumping
And stamped feet
Let’s dance en masse
A top the hill.
Oh, the mothers of our heroes
Say: “hallelujah!”
This country of ours
A paragon of fortitude
Has seen its brightest day.
It is a country that
The Lord of the Universe
And its gallant children
Who crowned her
With deceive victory.
Let us chant with jubilee:
“You really crowned us
You really crowned us.”
It is our day
In this month of May.
Those from the North
South, West and East
Are radiant with diamond
>From underneath their feet
Some gold has been mined
The more the virgin land exploited
The more metals will be extracted.
But this could be hampered
Amid those who change colors
Like people in a wolf skin
Predators of country’s wealth
By creating schism and ethnic unrest.
They betrayed their fellow men and women
As the very accomplices
Of alien elements.
Oh, my country
It is not surprising.
My bright country like an aurora
The sweltering heat of the sun
Never scourges you.
You bestowed us your blessing
With unity and prosperity
You entrusted us eternal Will.
We heard the songs
In nine languages
But with the same beat
A mark of our enduring unity.
My country like a butterfly
Didn’t you lay gently on our backs
To cover us cozily the freedom we lack.
Our mothers…
Say: “hallelujah! hallelujah!”
My country damsels
Say: “hallelujah!”
Our Fathers jump up
And say: “hallelujah!”
Let it be rejoice
With frenzy movement
And stamped feet.
Oh the mothers of gallant children
Just say: “hallelujah!”
Let’s dance en masse
A top the hill.
This country of endurance
Has seen its brightest day
While covering us
With the same garment of destiny
That we call liberty.
The land of gallant youths
The land of militants
Like gladiators who confront
A spade with a spade.
A violence of fools
A lesson for a pacifist.
The mass media of the world
Is a laughing stock indeed.
But my country
Is full of God-fearing people
Who pray or bow down
While worshiping Him
Be it in church, mosque
Or wherever they may be.
Oh, how generous is my country
Her water is so holy
Even if a hell of fire rains
Its skinny umbrella never burns.
Its tree shades is made up
Of the leaves of gaba.
Regardless the destination
We have a language
Of unity and peace
Let us spread the good news.
My flamboyant country
You never knocked down
By violent wind
You showered us a blessing
With unity and prosperity.
Our languages could be different
And so are our songs
But our tunes are the same after all.
The butterfly symbolizing our flag
You laid down on our backs
You brought the emblem like
The branch of a tree
How light, oh, how bright!
In the hard times
Of our struggle
Full of trails
Didn’t you remember
When our land burned with fire?
You proudly stride
With pride
Like a clitellum (Aba Chogora).
Thinking like a fun
The boastful enemies
Claimed as if
They smashed you to pieces.
But you were hidden
Under the bush of the tree
While carrying patiently
The womb of truth (pregnancy)
So painful, so unbearable.
Not long…
You turned out be hoopoe (kumbraza)
My country unlike others
You are born later as a State.
Now our flag is waving
Like a torch of light
Is flaming ……
Is flaming…….
Is flaming…….
Haile Bokure
· From the vantage point of the root word “ilil” is
associated with the name of God (Elihoym or Allah). It
is a common ululation in praise of God among Semitic people,
presumably women. But with the passage of time, its origin remained
indistinguishable.