My conscience is the address of my father,
He dwells in my soul and heart.
I talk of him everywhere,
Honour him "all the time".

In prison he stubbornly and daringly battles against jailer's chains.
He swore by God, the compassionate,
By the holy shrine of Makkah,
By all oaths that Palestine is his one
And sole homeland.

Father's address is the abode of freemen.
He is laureated for his persistent, enthusiastic,
Proud and endless fighting in captivity
Against the usurper to regain his homeland.
It's a promise that will sooner
Or later be faithfully fulfilled.

Father's address is the chains of jail.
As a child I am earnestly longing for dad,
Eagerly looking forward for his meeting,
But alas,
The usurper takes no heed of children's emotions.

My father is not a terrorist;
He is a legitimate struggle symbol...
For the liberation of our homeland,
A torch lightening the path
For coming generations.

Father's address is permanent;
It’s in the heart of Palestine,
Imprinted on its figs and olives,
On the hills of vine and thyme.

When freedom once called my father,
He readily answered the call
And proceeded forward with it.

Palestine is the home of prisoners,
Of martyrs, the banner-defenders.
My father in his den behind bars is still roaring.

Certainly, he will not come back home
Except after liberation.

Father's address is all Palestine,
The high mountain and the valley...
With it flowers and singing birds.
Here I was born
And so were my father and forefathers.

Behind bars,
My father heroically challenges the "Promised Land" legend;
He draws the map of our country
And writes down its birth certificate