Nightingale by Beatrice Mulund (Malaika)

From the dawn, beautiful and rare 

In you is the guitar.

Without a tool, just your flowing voice,

Nightingale, with no crowd,

Going slowly, like a hen.

Opening its wings like a mould

Against mines on a battlefield.

Your beak tingles me like a lullaby.

Your presence, nightingale, is warm

Your being, to me, is precious.

Sometimes you sacrifice your night, my night light

Rain or shine, you work.

Your motherly heart is always present

I am your gift every moment

Day to day, your love is constant

More than a rooster at the rendezvous.