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Martyr
It was 1983, and we were still in the middle of the war, the enemy had attacked us a cowardly attack!
Our soldiers and brave men were fighting in the front; they were fighting the enemy, and defending our Land as usual, both sides had casualties.
Mothers were voluntarily sending their children to fight even the elders in the families went to fight.
At that time, my front was in my classroom, I was teaching then. I was busy in teaching my pupils, training them how to live, or perchance, if they were alive, how to live when the war was ended. Of course, I was also teaching them how to die in Allahs cause!
Once, I asked Bahram, whose father was in the front, to go to the blackboard and read his composition in front of the class. Bahram, in proud, and very politely stood in front of the class, asked for my permission, and hung the picture, he had drawn for his composition, on the board.
Then, after citing: In the name of Allah and announcing the title of his works: Blood of the martyr is the seed of the mosque, he read:
Lets cast a glance there, at the room so bare,
Filled with the aroma of the martyrs breath:
Mother is kneeling by her babe, dear,
The sole memento of her mate, since his death;
Though her dream is her man, the great,
She is lulling the babe to lie in bed.
Her lullabys soothing him, so is her humming,
He needs soul nourishment from his loving.
Her pangs connote: My great brave man rather
Was the beloved babe of his mother,
He sucked his mother, got grown up, bright
Granted the martyrdom and got delight,
His own soul flew high, body in blood,
Blossom becomes when watered every bud!
Your own dad, along with thousand said this Hymn
From God we are our return is to Him.
Dear me! I am conveying inspiration to you,
Never dies a martyr that is our dream.
This is just from Lord we have to view:
Do not count the ones who are slain to Him
Dead, no, they are all alive un-vision
To their Lord connected, they have provision.
He forbore passing world, set out with honour,
Glided to where be blessed by Owner.
To tell you truth my beloved and sweet
Well stay here like the rain in summer!
We are sent to earth just to show our merit,
Leaving Dust to dust and unite God, Great.
Listen just to Mum, ask your own God power
To aid you revenge foe to Dad and others,
Devout you body for the land and the best
Glide then to God where no angel bothers!
Ascend next to Dad, and others with grace,
Place and position descent for lovers;
The world has to know by the deeds of mothers
Heaven lies beneath of the feet of mothers.
Not only am I your Mum and love, but I
Assisted my own man to up-rise so high.
Did I not suckle you? You seldom deny,
Ill be pleased if you act as did I.
The world bore many so pious and proud,
Fathers and mothers who adored only God;
To us gently they quoted when were asked:
Blood of the martyrs the seed of the mosque!