In Italy you get chickens. But no eggs. In Africa there are always eggs But never chickens Who is separating them?
意大利有鸡，没有鸡蛋，非洲有鸡蛋，却没有鸡，谁把它们拆散了？
I am not in love with him I am in love with ghosts.
我不是爱上他，我爱上了幽魂。
There is a whirlwind from southern Morocco, the Aajej.Against which the Fellahin defend themselves with knives。And there is a Ghibli from Tunis which rolls and rolls and rolls and produces.A rather strange nervous condition. And then there is the Harmatten, a red wind，which Mariners called a sea of darkness，and red sand from this wind has flown as far as the south of England，producing showers so dense that they were mistaken for blood.
摩洛哥南部有个旋风，叫亚几，埃及土著都用刀对抗它，而突尼斯的风叫季比里，季比里不停地袭卷着大地，带来一股焦躁不安的奇异情绪，还有砂热风，一种红风，水手都称它黑海，风中的红砂甚至吹到英国南岸，落下的红雨让人误以为是鲜血。
There is also a plant, I have never seen it. But I believe you can cut a piece the size of a heart from this plant and the next morning it will be filled with a delicious liquid, find that plant, cut out its heart.
听说有一种植物，我没见过，只要从它身上切下一块心形，隔天早上它就会充满甜美浆液，找到它，挖出它的心。
Betrayals in war.
Are childlike when compared With our betrayals during peace.
New lovers are nervous and tender.
But smash everything.
For the heart is a organ of fire.
战时的背叛，远比和平时的背叛来得单纯，恋人们既惊且喜，脆弱不安，却总是轻易粉碎一切，因为心是烈焰铸成的。
Every night.
I cut out my heart.
But in the morning it was full again.
Darling.
My darling.
No honey, don't be late.
每晚
我割着自己的心思念你
天一亮
心却又自动复原
亲爱的
我的爱，别迟到
We die rich with lovers
and tribes, tastes
we have swallowed bodies
we have entered and swum up
like rivers
Fears we have hidden in, like this wretched cave.
I want all this marked on my body
We are the real countries
Not the boundaries drawn on maps with the names of powerful men.
I know you will come
and carry me out into the palace of winds.
我们满载着爱人，族人的爱
和曾经吐咽过的滋味死去
带着如河流般涌动
接受过我们灵魂的肉身死去
也和冷冽的洞窟一般
深藏于内心的恐惧一起死去
这一切都将深深烙印在我身上
我们才是真正的国界
不是强者画定的国界
我相信你会来
来将我带往风之殿堂