Number 11

Soul-nightingale, how are you inside this cage of the body? How long will you stay here alone, a single body all by yourself? Sweet-voiced nightingale, from that rose garden and that orchard, how did you suddenly fall into these dunghills? It seems that in this ash pit you have forgotten that meadow, that garden, those hyacinths and lilies. Break the cage of the body, then singing your bright song, rise up from the rank of the ash pit and stroll into the gardens. Your fellow singing birds have all left this ash pit; they flew to the garden and took their places there. One cannot make a home among predators and beasts; leave this dreadful place, my soul, and head for safe havens. Bird of the heavens, caught in the snare of an earthly body, for two or three grains you have missed whole harvests. At least, since you cannot get out of this shell, sit by its window and throw all the openings wide. Poor Maghrebi, why settle down here, when over there dwellings have been made ready for you?