Wind of the South by Iraqi poet `Abdul-Wahab Al-Bayyati (my translation):
The eye of the prisoner
from his underground cell,
toward the sad star
from his underground cell
he prayed--and destiny
terrifying him--the eye of
the prisoner
and the fragrance of
brushwood and rocks
and the echoes of convoys
and birds returning from the south
after the sunset
retiring in the city tower
and the convoys and paths,
hit by night,
and to the sad star
the eye of the prisoner
from his underground cell
he prayed, and destiny
and the night and the sad star
on the stream
covered by the wind,
and in the rough wilderness,
we used to walk
our convoys had no star,
and we used to walk
what happened was
not futile, no
No, it will not be
Our words--with their glowing letters-- 
will smash the
walls of prisons
and will light the houses
of the dead
and will prevail
against tyrants
Our words! No, what happened
was not futile, no
Oh, earth, the mother of all
you shall age, what happened
will not be, and you shall age!
And it will not be
Our convoys had no star,
and we repeated our mute
prayers for the faraway morning
we used to repeat
our prayers, oh, mother,
for the new morning
and dogs barked behind us,
And from faraway
the land of the slaves
appeared as we wished
a tilting tower,
and a horizon painted by blood
we thirsted
that we forgot that we thirsted
and on the pavement of the
deserted port, there were mumblings
of our cheering children and women
that we forgot that we were naked
Oh, he returned, can you hear
his contemplation in the sad wind
and from the eye of the prisoner
some tears escape
and the fragrance of
brushwood and rocks
and the echo of convoys and birds
retiring from the south
in our houses, and from
the exile of the paths
the echoes of a convoy sing
It is: the wind of the south
and the fragrance of brushwood...
It is: wind of the south
Oh, mother! He returned
can you hear
and from the eye of the prisoner
some tears escape
and in the paths
the echoes of a convoy sing
it is: wind of the south