Vai Tchodjouklareum

Ah! my children! do you know Djemileh,
The turquoise, the carnation, the most beautiful girl in Bagdad?
Ah! my children!

Ah! my children! her face has aspects of the moon.
And in each of her eyes there is a sun.
Ah! my children!

Ah! my children! sometimes she leaves her vest unfastened,
Forgetting — who knows? — that it hides her breasts.
Ah! my children!

Ah! my children! she has round rosy paps
Standing straight out like peaches not yet ripe.
Ah! my children!

Ah! my children! look at the curve of her back;
She might crack nuts below her waist there.
Ah! my children!

Ah! my children! what shall be said of her thighs,
What so good to dream of as her thighs?
Ah! my children!

Ah! my children! Djemileh has just passed
Appetising and gilt like a cake for Ramazan.
Ah! my children!

Ah! my children! she comes down from the mountains
With her arms full of flowers, those little flowers that never die.
Ah! my children!

Ah! my children! the wind makes cling to her skin
Her rose robe, and makes her look quite naked.
Ah! my children!

Ah! my children! Djemileh comes to us to sell
The little flowers that never die, plucked in the mountain.
Ah! my children!

Ah! my children! when she sells her flowers
The bright eyes of the lads bathe her and devour her.
Ah! my children!

Ah! my children! eyes that pass through her robe
And do not count the money she gives back.
Ah! my children!

Ah! my children! feeling hands that tickle her
And she laughs with all her teeth, pulling back her veil.
Ah! my children!

Ah! my children! Djemileh has sold the flowers from the mountain;
And added to her dowry for marrying the hill boy she loves.
Ah! my children!