For you, I pour my poetry in tears,
Beloved mother of seven kids,
My dear and proud cousin.
Like father, you cherished the cedars,
And the mountains of our motherland.
What happened, what changed you?
Your uncharacteristic departure,
Caused your dear children to grieve,
They call for you to stay by them.
Your beloved Charbel carries your icon,
And desperately follows your shadow,
Your brothers, sisters and your family,
Weep your person with a deep sorrow,
In Sydney and in Melbourne,
They wove a shawl of sighs,
Which cut like the sharp swords.
This pain broke your mother’s back,
And madness overcame her mind.
You, the youngest of your sisters,
Don’t you know what your passing did?
Don’t you know, you still have little ones?
Who are still suckling from your youth?
Don’t you know, your house is near empty?
Your departure extinguished our candles.
The Issas are shedding a flood of tears.
And your town laments at your door.
My dear cousin, tell me what happened?
We, abroad, our hearts are burning,
Why did you orphan the poetry?
When the best belongs in your book.
Sister, why does this have to happen?
My dream was to see you again,
Now, to only kiss the grave, is unfair.
Bakos, my dear uncle, interred in glory,
Yolla’s heart has long yearned for you.
When you meet, crown her with lights,
Your death has left her heart crushed.
Introduce her to little Carlos, her nephew,
Tell my father to receive her with hugs,
For, she was the sister I never had,
Her absence is unbearable to all of us.