God is witness, you are martyrs
So do witness prophets and saints
You died to glorify the Word of my Lord
in quarters sanctified by the Prophet's ascension
Did you commit suicide? No, we've committed suicide
preferring a life of the living-dead
People, we are dead, let's listen to the elegy
We've turned impotent,
so much that impotence grumbles against us
We wept until weeping divorced us in disdain
We prostrated until prostration sought help against us
We hoped until hope left us in disgust
We complained to the tyrants of a white house
whose hearts overflow with darkness
We kissed the shoe of Sharon
until the shoe cried: stop, you have worn me out...!
People, we are dead but earth refuses to embrace us in.
Tell Ayaat, O' bride of the Heavens!
All beauty stands ransom for your eyes
When paragons, the cream of my people, are castrated
A beautiful [woman] stands up to the criminal
She kisses death with a smile
While leaders flee away from death
Paradise opened its gates for you and greeted
Fatima Al-Zahraa was in your welcome
Tell those who pen fatawas: hang on
Many a fatawa fills Heavens with anger
When Jihad calls, ink has to fall silent
And so does pen, books an faqihs
When Jihad beckons, no fatawa is sought
Fatawa on the day of Jihad is blood.
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The Martyrs
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