Mouood Mouood English Edition
Your memory is the light of our nights;
Is the smile of gardens, spring of delights?
O! Mother again your picture has embracedus;
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 tempestuousriver;
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 strew”;
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.
