You wounded me this winter,
with the coldness of the earth,
I am the garden of your wishes,
crown me with cherry blossoms.
 
May I tilt as an ivy tree,
around your tree of dunes,
may I bind up my head
by the beauty of truth.
 
Chorus:
May the wind and storms
twist around my tree,
in that battle the root becomes stronger
of the faith that is called Islam.
 
There’s a fire of desire that burns
from the bottom of my heart,
who can put it out
except the sea of your love?

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