AZEMMUR
OUR LAND OF OLIVES

Gather our olives
Black and ripe
Beloved Land!
Olive trees of our ancestors!

Gather our olives
In the cold of winter,
Beloved Land!
From dawn to dusk, we defend you.

Today, like tomorrow,
In rain or in shine,
You remain our land, our sister,
Our poetry...

Gather our olives
With their leaves and branches.
The beauty of the Kabylia
Is not meant to be hidden.