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Poetry

The martyrs

 

By Leora Douraghy
May 10, 2004
iranian.com

O my child, dead my child
Still, cold, mouth open as if to speak
Where have you gone?

O mother, dead my mother
your tattered dress still wet with blood
Take me with you
I can't bear life without you

O my brothers, dead my brothers
I call you but there is no answer
Come back, come back, don't go to the mosque

O husband, dead my husband
don't leave my side
hold my hand
stay by me

O father, father!
I feel the press of the crowd and hear the sobs of the believers
I want to run away but cannot
Why did we come? Why did we walk miles and days to come here today?

Ya Hossein. Ya Hossein. You were martyred for your faith
Now so are they.

-- Ashura 2004

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