O! Great Martyrs of Islam (Poem)

By: Sayyid Hasan Mousavi
Tehran, Iran
Your memory is the light of our nights; Is the smile of gardens, spring of delights?
O! Mother again your picture has embraced us; As if the home is graced with elegance of dove.
The home is filled with the fragrance of Eighth Imam; My father is disposed with the glance of the picture of tulip.
O! Father let’s go view the dawn; O! Father point at the dove in love.
In the grief of martyr, my eyes are tearful; My heart floating in the spring of blood; Offered his son the lawful earned bread; And I believe he achieved a place in the heaven.
O! Mountain of endurance, O! Secret of endurance; Your willpower more firm than Damavand In the garden of your love, I could be your offshoot; A relief to your crystal heart which is stricken.
You planted rosy geraniums in the room; To fill the house with martyrs’ perfume.
Your glimpse is bestowed with kindness; It possesses the beloved’s attraction; Your smile is spring of affection; Your glance is reminder of the Supreme Leader.
O! Lovebirds, O! Stormy rivers; Your endless patience, as firm as lofty mountains; O! Mournful palms, O! Teary fountains; The fount of your tears is the honor of waterfall.
Swear on your martyr, such as a burning dove; Your overwhelmed heart is in flames of love.
You are so firm, such as a cypress; Willfully standing for a lifetime glory; Mountains are reciting the story of your patience; Your mother has given martyrs as sacrifice.
A lifetime in fond of her shining sun; In warmth of her hope, in frustrations; Suddenly, he went for tulips ovations; Such, she was in fond of her martyr son.
They’re, for you, restlessly eager; Are mournful like the spring clouds; O! Tulip, you passed away and your parents; They will mourn you forever.
Garden of mirrors reflects in your eyes; Your tears resemble tempestuous river; On a sudden, five poplars did you deliver; Your overwhelmed heart always cries for the martyrs.
She is a dew bloom, in spring of magnificence; The mother of tulips; is the peak of patience.
For Ali (A.S.), you are like Malek-e-Ashtar;[Commander-in-Chief of Imam Ali (A.S.)]
From the generation of strewed blooms; You have passed away but I know For a whole life you are support of your mother, everyone assumes; While she’s never given up your grief.
This house narrates the martyrs’ epic; Alike heaven, scent of guest is spread; Even the fresh and sweet juice is red; Has such a faith in the tulip-esthetic.
Your home is lighted by breath of mirrors; It has been decorated with two roses for years.
She sets her martyr’s picture for admiration; So that the seers know, he is from sun’s generation.
You are a mountain and will remain like mountain for ever; Although your grief is more greater than Damavand; The house is filled with apple’s scent; Love is the best solace to your anguish; I understood from the black color of your chador; By God! Your sons’ bereavement is very intense.
Inside your house, the sun is shining; Before the springs of flowers are blooming; O! Muezzin, I swear by your call of azan; The odor of tulips, your heart is pining.
She set the pictures of her martyred flowers; Besides the portraits of her Supreme Leader.
If she points to the picture of martyrs; Odor of tulips will embrace the entire city.
Butterflies broom your house, “flowers to strewâ€‌; The cypresses kneel down in admiration of you.
O! Man, your sons drank the wine of martyrdom; From the cup of dawn, where they came from.
O! Gardener of affection, O! Smiling cypress; Talk of bud blooming in fire.
Your overwhelmed parents sincerely believe; You were brave and achieved the zenith of skies.
All the lights only glow from your lanterns; Sun and moon always come to pay tributes to you.
Although yours youthful years are gone; But you are firm, and still holding on like the mountain of Ohud.
Then it will be your permission to heaven; Sorrow of the star that you were given.
Always when the name of martyr was uttered; Spirituality in the home got sputtered.
O! The tulips always bloom in your garden; The bloodied dove is your memorial mark.
Towards the martyrs, let’s take our wings; Let’s cling to the clusters of tulips.
Lantern of love, burning in your closet; Lesson of love, learnt from the window; The ways of aurora tailoring you know; For your child, you tailored an epaulet.
Your eulogy is remembrance of Allah; Your mouth smells the aroma of supplication; O! Eulogist of the Holy Ahlul Bayt (A.S.), It smells like the fragrance of Karbala.