فلسطين الدامية

If I had the power, I would spread grief and pain, making it a black flag fluttering over Palestine.

Its disasters spoiled my waking day, and troubled my night when they were portrayed to me as a dream.

I sought silence in mourning on the day of its fall; had I been left to my own devices, my lips would never have parted.

Every time a fierce storm strikes the people, do we cowardly resort only to parchment and pen?

Did scribes with their writings ever save the Levant, or did any poet preserve Baghdad with his verse?

Why does my heart overflow with such churning emotion that, if it spoke true, it would pour out as blood?

It suffices as an indictment and a flaw of emotions that they guarantee neither cure nor sickness.

It brings me no joy, while the unsheathed sword is denied me, that I possess a tongue which breathes fire.

Blood boils uselessly on our heels, a humiliation for which mere words are deemed an unworthy match.

The wounds of Palestine have overflowed, recalling an older wound in al-Andalus that has yet to heal.

Nor does a fresh grief lack its enduring sting; memory simply renews what time made ancient.

O nation deceived by prosperity, forgetting that time has swept away entire peoples before you!

You drove your passions blindly into governance until they shattered like glass against the edge of a rock.

You hurried your steps beyond your endurance, only to find yourself complaining of exhaustion and fatigue.

The outward brilliance of al-Zahra's majesty deceived you into thinking the nights would forever veil their darkness.

You were like one dreaming, until you awoke, biting your fingers in burning remorse.

They will attach Palestine to al-Andalus, and soon they will turn their sights toward the Holy House and the Sanctuary.

They will rob you of Baghdad and the Levant, leaving you stripped of flesh and bone.

Such is the recompense for the pure favors your hands bestowed upon people who reject gratitude.

O nation that took its grievances to its enemies for judgment, how could you accept an unjust adversary as an arbiter?

Speak through artillery if you have a voice, or if you wish to make the deaf finally hear.

Repel injustice with oppression's own coin, otherwise the most contemptible thing in existence is the one who is wronged.

Ask history and current events whether they ever recognized any right or principle respected without brute force.

Do not beg mercy from the hand of the tyrant; rather, place your foot squarely upon a tyrant's head.

In the name of rigid systems, nations have met their doom, while those very systems invite chaos and disorder.

No political systems unite justice and weaponry except in the manner that the butcher gathers the sheep.

Wherever the hearts of revolutionaries turn, they encounter a political establishment as cold and lifeless as ice.

I swear by the pride of brute force—and I know no greater power than it—an absolute oath.

Tolerance in Islam has yielded nothing for the Arabs save thorns and bitter pain.

When reliance on foreign aid took hold, the nation rushed to lavish its rights and blood upon outsiders.

Meanwhile, nations locked in struggle have never known any language save the sharp, decisive blade.

You offered your hand to a stranger who proceeded to sever it—the very hand that would have kissed yours had it been struck.

You have exhausted your soul through endless generosity; will you not finally cease being generous to your enemies?

Noble qualities are essential, but if they bring destruction, those very qualities must be completely uprooted.

O Palestine, if we lose you in your bloom, you are not the first righteous right to be stolen by stealth.

A bulwark of unshakeable unity terrified them, so they engineered a hollow gap and broke the line.

Your tragedies have struck the heartstrings of an awakening East, stirring deep mourning rather than mere song.

The youth have risen in revolt—and who compares to the youth when the sanctuary is violated and the fire of zeal ignites?

Arab blood flowing in their veins refuses to let the free Arab remain humiliated.

In every suburb, massive demonstrations march, uniting flags and words under a single banner.

I would sacrifice myself for those who, when crisis strikes the East, let their hair grow long in mourning.

The crisis briefly united disparate religions, fractured orders, and divided opinions into one.

They care nothing for terror when fired with zeal, nor for death as long as their people remain safe.