En Méditerranée
Georges Moustaki
In the Mediterranean
In this basin where play
Children with dark eyes,
There are three continents
And centuries of history,
Prophets of gods,
The Messiah himself.
There is a beautiful summer
That is not afraid of autumn,
In the Mediterranean.
There is the smell of blood
Floating on its shores
And wounded countries
Like open wounds,
Barbed islands,
Walls that imprison.
There is a beautiful summer
That is not afraid of autumn,
In the Mediterranean.
There are olive trees
Dying under bombs
Where the first dove appeared,
Forgotten peoples
Harvested by war.
There is a beautiful summer
That is not afraid of autumn,
In the Mediterranean.
In this basin, I played
When I was a child.
I had my feet in the water.
I breathed the wind.
My playmates
Have become men,
The brothers of those
That the world abandons,
In the Mediterranean.
The sky is in mourning,
Above the Acropolis
And freedom is no longer said
In Spanish.
We can still dream
Of Athens and Barcelona.
There remains a beautiful summer
That is not afraid of autumn,
In the Mediterranean.
