Just before Eid
illness befell Leljlija
a monther’s only child
She suffered, she mourned, she wailed and said:

Dear mother, if I die, dress me in traditional clothes,
Unbraid my long hair as waves
let them fall by my face

Let the young men grasp me on either side
and let them sing that song
During their sleepless nights, they hold me.

As a bride, wash me in basil
because I’m being carried on a long journey from palm to palm, my dear, they carry me.

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