Poem of the Martyrs by Adel Al-Ba’ini
O knight who adorns the throne of greatness,
The deaf mountains bow in the face of your resolve.
You humbled a love for life and a spirit,
And voluntarily gave up your homeland in sacrifice.
Your wounds thirst for greatness, and you quenched them
With nobility and glory, filled by martyrdom.
You strove for glory, knocking at its door,
And the door of martyrdom is the finest one to be knocked upon.
When dignity, chivalry, and redemption
Are crowned upon your head like a laurel wreath.
What is there like the martyr, whose virtues rise?
This is his call for greatness; let it be heard.
Why, O homeland of Arabism, do you remain silent,
While the ties of your people are being severed?
Saddle your steeds; you have delayed long enough,
Be like the martyr who has shaken off his slumber.
This land has been destined for martyrdom since its inception,
And it will forever yearn for that sacrifice.
Oh, Hadi and Wajdi, guiding lights of direction,
And the brilliance of a fallen star, spreading its fragrance.
Salute the martyr and kiss his eyelids,
And let the flowers rest gently on his wounds.
Do not bury him; let him remain in his highness,
A banner shining with the light of his ancestors.
Indeed, the martyr is blessed; we have witnessed his wedding,
No to tears—the eye that weeps is indeed foolish.
Rejoice, O mother of the martyr, and let your voice rise,
For today, the festivities of the world converge.
Do not disturb him with your shedding of tears,
For it saddens the martyr to be accompanied by your sorrow.
O knight who offered your life so easily,
You are blessed, young man, striving for lofty ideals.
Your blood is a beacon that guides,
As the mighty ships of sacrifice sail forth.
So let the southern cross rest in glory,
Like the sun standing tall, illuminating the horizon.
Martyrs of Freedom by Badr Shakir Al-Sayyab
A martyr of greatness will not heed the blame of his mourners,
And he will not see those who may reproach him.
Fate cloaked him, and the universe became a funeral for glory,
With its eastern parts darkened and its western parts in grief.
A youth who led the children of struggle to heights,
And shattered the might of the enemy’s battalions.
A youth who aspired to attain honor as a homeland,
Now every foe dares without fear to confront him.
A youth aware that the enemies tremble before his sword,
He achieved a clear victory, and enemies were exposed.
A youth who committed no sin, except that he unsheathed
A sword against oppression, unyielding in his stand.
When they mention the combat against the enemies of Younes,
Death itself walked toward them, red was their fate.
He has sold three souls to the Arabs,
So shed tears for him, yet my tears do not quiet.
Alas for those who bid farewell to their friends and departed,
For Younes, may my tears unveil the sorrow.
Oh, grief for an eagle whose wings have been clipped,
How many filled the horizon of Iraq with their struggle.
Though the body of Mahmoud may rest in the soil,
His glory, which he earned, is not hidden.
Oh, how I lament for Fahmi, and what befell him,
He did not care nor consider his plight.
A martyr whom tyranny invaded his land,
He rose, leading the determination of a soldier to fight.
Who would dare hang a protector of homes with his sword,
While civilizational ships sail toward achievements?
Men upheld the covenant with God that they are
Ready to sacrifice until the truth is reclaimed.
He spilled the blood of English slaves,
Oh, their woe for those they fear in shadowy dealings.
He spilled the blood of English slaves,
But who is the one seeking vengeance?
He spilled the blood of the English settler,
But in Berlin, a lion watches over him.
Rashed, oh, yes, the leader of a nation,
Which remains under the control of Abdul Ilah and his companion.
For you are the rightful leader who awakened the slumber,
As the times cast upon them its many trials.
Today is the Day of Martyrs by Gibran Khalil Gibran
Today is the day of the martyrs’ fall,
Is there a shedding of blood in its corners?
To God, the absence of presence in the mind,
They perished and became the most eternal of the living.
Heroes sacrificed, facing the burdens of hardship,
In God’s name, and they refrained from harm.
For fame, they cared little; they did not seek prominence,
Yet they perished in struggle and hardship.
They held fast to their faith, while the sword of fate,
Descended upon their noble heads.
They surrendered their will, notwithstanding pain,
Limbs severed, yet they endured.
For they stood firm against the might of a tyrant,
Who darkened the night and dealt harshly with their religion.
What was the despot but a tyrant,
Who held the reins of power with cruelty and disdain?
He softened the hearts of the deaf and the hard-hearted,
But the hearts of the virtuous elite remained steadfast.
Exempt are the truths that are seldom recognized,
Except through remains visible to the observer.
Though he may be shattered, the heart still beats,
What remains within it is faith and hope.
The belief is a divine grace,
It rises above calamities and adversities.
It yields pride from the enemies’ humiliation,
And it lends honor from the scorn.
When spring arrives, the beauty of its bounty unfurls,
Such treasure cannot be bought with despair.
It surpasses valuables, and perhaps,
Souls were kindly offered for protection.
Today marks the beginning of the year of triumph,
As radiant jewels renew their offerings.
It has remained across its months and seasons,
A law of creation in its conditions and upon its names.
Each part is perfected within the whole,
Thus completing the entirety from its parts.
Marvel at a people whose marks do not fade,
For they remain the greatest imprints in the dust.
Only their struggles tell of survival,
And their decaying fortresses began to vanish.
Yet the circles of pride are still upheld,
As if a testament stood taller than its decayed roots.
How many states have fallen in Egypt,
And their rule continues, inherited from the oldest forefathers.
And whenever nations build sound thoughts,
Those thoughts remain steadfast after every structure.
Are you prepared for this standing and yours,
This system for wisdom that is sincere?
If hope were granted, what do I wish for you,
And when I call, let my invitation rise.
Song of the Martyr by Mahmoud Darwish
They raised the cross upon the wall.
Untie the chains from my hands.
The whip sways and the sound of footsteps
Comprises a tune: “My lord.”
And it warns the dead: “Beware,”
O you!
He said, the beast howled:
I grant you a path if you kneel
Before my throne in two prostrations
And kiss my palms, in shame, twice.
Or…
You can ascend the wood of the cross
As the martyr of song… and of the sun.
I was not the first to bear the crown of thorns,
To tell the dark-haired one to weep.
O you whom I love, like my faith,
And your name rests on my lips,
Soaked with thirst and filled with dust.
The taste of wine when it matures in the jars.
I was not the first to bear the crown of thorns,
To say: “Weep!”
Perhaps my cross is a saddle,
And the thorns above my branded forehead,
With blood and dew,
A laurel crown
And perhaps the last to say:
I longed for death.
O Martyr, You Live by Jamal Mursi
O martyr, you are alive,
When time has passed.
Your fragrant mention remains,
As long as we live in our blood.
You are a shining full moon,
Never absent from our heavens.
You gave your life, in exchange
For what you sold for paradise.
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