I call you, I press your hands. I kiss the ground whereon you stand And I say : My life is yours

I give you the light in my eyes The warmth in my heart For the tragedy I am living Is also yours

I call you, I press your hands. I refused shame in my country I did not bend my shoulders I turned and faced my oppressors

Orphaned, destitute and barefooted I carried my blood in my palms And never lowered my flags I have kept watch over the grass On the tombs of my ancestors

I call you, I press your hands