Weep, weep, oh Django,
Far, far above in Paradise,
oh great Reinhardt,
in your abode,
in great sorrow
on your guitar,
wistful notes have arisen,
a Requiem, the sombre dirge
for your brother, a Roma boy,
one of the Gitans,
the Manouches, the Tziganes,
bearers on Europe’s shores
time immemorial of ancient lore,
wisdom antique, powers anew,
ecstasy unbounded,
from Greece, deepest India,
from dark Egypt, Al-Kymiã.
Weep, weep, oh Django,
On this noble land of France,
where you have lived and have loved,
of your music still the mark borne,
your brothers are no longer welcome,
the bells toll again the pogroms.
Weep, weep, oh Django,
Your caravans the roads follow
of the Rhône the swirling green flow
to the mouth the estuary
celebrate the Holy Maries,
the Black Virgin of the oppressed,
the wandering chosen people,
from land to land, exile eternal.
Weep, weep, oh Django,
France, this land welcoming,
mother fecund and protecting,
your brothers now rejects,
of modern life, unfit subjects.
This land of holy men,
of musicians, of poets,
of saintly mystics awakened,
philosophers enlightened,
this land denies you haven.
Weep, weep, oh Django,
Oh you Travellers on the path,
joined in the eternal quest,
of the absolute, sacredness,
only you are worthy
of the poet’s fate starry
only you know to discern
on the breath of wind, the call
at dusk among trees tall
in the ancient and deep forests,
the bards’ spirit, wise mystics,
whispers still secretly
the path of your destiny :
under the tall starry sky,
only you know how to fly.
Weep, weep, oh Django,
Only you still follow, unheeded,
alone the ancestral way,
on the path, stars guided,
to the holy sanctuary.
In your heart a treasure’s concealed,
our common ancestors’ memory,
who slept and danced under the stars,
on the gods’ cosmic melody.
Weep, weep, oh Django,
Only you can still bring forth
the plaintive air borne note,
in the soul the call awakened
of the marvels of the road.
Weep, weep, oh Django,
Travellers of the endless journey,
on this earth you have retraced
a path of holy sanctuaries
to the Great Mother Earth,
to Maia, Isis, Mary, Sara
your people dedicated,
to this love goddess, rich and fecund,
her generous breast abounds,
but her life is endangered
by mankind’s cupidity,
raping, defiling her bounty.
Weep, weep, oh Django,
Your people belongs to the Earth,
Sons of the Light and of the Wind,
in your songs and dances celebrated,
lament of man’s spirit unbounded.
Weep, weep, oh Django,
When your brothers shall go famished,
when their songs be extinguished,
when they shall be laden in chains
in the concrete-built cities,
when they shall be denied roaming
on the paths migratory,
of the human soul’s image
of its earthly destiny,
at this time shall stop history,
forever shall disappear
of the moon the hidden face,
that governs tides and winds,
the face of the Black Virgin,
the face of Beauteous Sara,
servant and sovereign,
guardian of all secrets
buried in the hearts of Men.
Paris, 22nd July 2010 (Translation)