further more than that, my land is the air I breath.
Because I’ve been ancient Greek in front of the Aegean,
with my pupils full of undefined seas.
I’ve been Italian when the Vesuvius buried me
and French when I kissed for first time in Paris.
I became a Swiss when I heard Rousseau in Geneve,
I’ve got from Finns thirteen Sunday evenings.
I lost an auricle of my heart in Saint Petersburg,
and a ventricle in Stockholm with Olof Palme´s death
on that morning of June.
Where am I from if I am I everywhere?
I get emotional when I listen to the Estonian hymn,
I’ve said I love you in Hungarian on the shore of the Danube,
I’ve heard Mozart saying I love you in Vienna,
One of my seven lives keeps begging in the Prague streets,
and another one stays incarcerated in the British Museum.
In Dresden, the English bombs fell on me
and in Warsaw the German ones.
I’m Danish in all my blood when silence talks for me,
and every 8th January I’m Finnish again.
Which country would I defend if I feel attacked everywhere?
I got married in Rabat with a knife and a hat,
In Fez I painted myself dark black.
In Sahara I crossed frontiers without lines in the maps.
I was Jewish in Tel-Aviv and Muslim in Jaffo.
In the Holy Tomb I was Catholic at five o’clock,
and at seven I was Orthodox. I’ve prayed in Shinto temples
and nobody ever noticed.
I’ve been Argentinean in the anger fists
and Brazilian in the hope.
I’ve been from every place I’ve been in.
Which country would I die for if I feel alive everywhere?
« return.