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Abstract: Poems by Ruhiyyih Khanum, Giuseppe de Marco, Gilbert Robert, Martyn Burke, Audrey Marcus, Anneke Buys, Geoffrey Nash, Judith Partelow Provost, Adelbert Mühlschlegel, Larry Rowdon, Victor de Araujo, Shirin Sabri, Roger White, Bret Breneman, et al. Notes: See Bahá'í World volume 18 table of contents. |
page 983
A translation from Persian of a poem written by a Muslim woman who was a cell-mate of
one of the recent Bahá'í women martyrs. For the author's protection, her name is withheld.
page 984[see also Prison Memories of Mr. Amoui (Feb. 1984 - March 1989)]
In mid-1982, a Bahá'í was told that an Islamic court had decreed that he should be
put to death. On hearing the decision, he composed the following poem for his son.
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page 986
. . . somewhere in the list could we perhaps slip a plea for consideration that we surrendered our lives that men may be happy and free?
— From last letter of Mihdí Anvarí executed in Shíráz 17 March 1981
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page 988
page 989I believe many of us share today deep pain for the waste of the precious lives of children everywhere . . .
---for the sleeping ones---
page 990
page 991
page 992(On reading letters written in 1980-1981, by Bahá'í prisoners in Irán, to their families, within an hour of their execution for refusing to recant their faith.)
Pages 993-1015 are Music sheets; see these in the PDF of image scans here.
back to Bahá'í World volume 18 table of contents
On Hearing of Enoch's Murder
Rúhiyyih Khánum (Amatu'l-Bahá) (Limassol, Cyprus), 17 September 1979
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The sunlight is black The sunlight is black What raven wing Covered my sun at noonday? In my mouth is the salt of tears I cannot swallow so much salt . . . Blood is so beautiful Blood is so pure Why do the people let blood Run in the street? So long it took To make this man Noble and good His mind and his soul Expanded like sunlight At noonday. Why did you kill him? Are you pleased at this riddled shell, This mangle of bone and flesh? Did you think your deed in the dark Was a bright light? Everything is pulsing, Throbbing and throbbing! There is no answer And the sunlight is black. Go Enoch go! Go to Musa on the hill Go to your Master Go to your Guardian Go to the Kingdom of Light! But ask not of us Nor of your people Who have plucked a sin Big enough and dark enough To blot out the noonday sun! Woe to Africa! Weep as you have not wept before, Weep on your knees, Weep your eyes blind, You have murdered Abu'l-Futœh, The Father of Victories is dead At your hand, at your hand! Your jeweled crown page laced by God on your head Is rolled into the grave--- Weep, weep, weep your heart away. |
Tribute
Translated by Hushmand Fatheazam
one of the recent Bahá'í women martyrs. For the author's protection, her name is withheld.
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Do you remember that you told me `How tight is our cage! How difficult to breathe in this close and terrible place!' You wanted to sacrifice yourself. I wanted to be freed from prison, but you wanted to sacrifice yourself. You looked at the door of the cell in such a strange way, as though someone called you from heaven. I saw in your gaze the look of a fulfilled and proud lover. I saw the desire for flight in your eyes, as though you were going back to the nest. At that moment you murmured into my ears, `Life is vanity; why should we stay till we rot?' We both said the same thing, that life is meaningless, that at the end we have to go in any case. But behold how beautifully you spread your wings, broke your cage. Your umbrella was of flowers. Now even the Seven Heavens are not vast enough under your feet. How well you knew that to take wing is the best way to go home. You had a power equal to the whole world; your heart was like an ocean. It is my humiliation to see that you are up there and I am still here. I am in this swamp of the earth and you are with your Beloved. I am still drowned in wonderment and you have arrived at your destiny. Do you remember that you told me, `How tight is our cage! How difficult to breathe in this close and terrible place!' Are you aware that I cannot erase your memory from my heart throughout eternity? You are a proud eagle. My heart is a captive bird. Even if it were not imprisoned, it is a captive in the world. You are not here but have taken to your wings. I stay, and I rot, and I die. |
page 984
From an Iranian Prison
put to death. On hearing the decision, he composed the following poem for his son.
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My Soroush, behold your father and see how perplexed he is. He keeps to himself and muses. He is captive in the hands of the oppressors, like Joseph in the well of Canaan. My Soroush . . . I miss your love and your sweet voice. See how the enemies ruined our home, at this fall season which is followed by winter. You trembled like autumn leaves in the bosom of your mom, when you heard that your father was in the hands of the enemies. They attacked our home . . . Books, pamphlets and notebooks were all taken, picture of the Beloved too, which was so dear . . . At this time I heard a sweet message: Why is the bird of your heart so sorrowful? Don't be so sad; this is the bounty of the Beloved that you are in this prison corner. His calamity is His providence, rejoice. Good for the head which is given for His path. Drink the everlasting wine from the cup-bearer's hand. If they took `Abdu'l-Bahá's picture, why worry? it is engraved on the wall of my heart. If they took the prayer book, many tablets are hidden in my heart, If they broke the tapes of the voices of the friends, the bird of my heart is a sweet-singing bird. They cannot drain the fountain of the Sun even though clouds are now ruling in this region. Look at the tiny prison cells which are filled with the melodies of prayer and the mention of God. Listen to the cry of `O Bahá, O my God', which echoes like a thunder and roars. The sound of the `remover of difficulties' chanted by the friends, flies to the Heaven of God like an eagle. One friend is saying the song of `Praise be to my God the exalted', and the other is chanting the verse of `O Beloved look at Thy lovers', One is full of joy from the song of `O God', and the other is weeping at the chanting of `Al- Mustagháth'. One is drunk with the wine of `Our God the Most Pure', and the other is astonished at the inebriety of the wine of `if there were no calamities'. We must make the most of these various-colored wines, since the cup-bearer is the beauty of the Beloved. I wonder from which cup I should drink, since there are so many wines in this happy feast. Although the cell is filled with absolute darkness, the beauty of the Beloved is shining in the garden of my heart. If the judge finds out about my joyous state, I am sure that he will regret his decree. Drink from the wine of true understanding in secret, O friends, and whip lashes will be your punishment. Look at the degree of the ignorance of the guard, I am fully drunk and he wants order. Thanks to God since with the help of the Beloved prison has become a palace to His lovers. |
[no title]
by Giuseppe de Marco (Sicily)
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E al calar della notte quella strada scintillante sul mare mi portò in un mondo diverso dove l'oro nei duori e le gemme nel petto.
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page 985
La Ballade de Mullá Husayn
Gilbert Robert (France)
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Yá Sáhibu'z-Zamán! Á cheval, ô héros de Dieu!
Bien-aimé, avec humilité, j'ai orné ma tête de ton turban vert |
Táhirih
Martyn Burke (Belgium)
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Bridal-white and calm this was her hour. `Yield or be death's cold sister!' And she: `Beyond this point--no quest. Beyond love's talk--no tale.' For she would be victor by the silk scarf she carried when the execution knot would close love's halter home. |
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Paul Haney: A Reflection
Audrey Marcus (Israel)
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No one will stand that tall among the columns of the Báb's Shrine, Your back in its lean grey coat bending to us in the dark, Ushering us delicately into firm belief, like a benediction, like the long, arched curve of humility that bows from self to nothingness before Him. No one will approach the Threshold from such special height, Nor in that same long-boned, sparse-stepped way--- Sway so like the reed to the darting currents of God's will, More obediently gather greatness down to the scattered petals there. Oh, blessing---that once we witnessed this, Witnessed you backing to the door so awkwardly graceful, That we were privileged to walk the gravelled path beside you from the Shrine, page acing our steps with yours over the acquiescent stones . . . No one will walk that tall. |
Bahíyyih Khanum (15 July 1982
Anneke Buys (The Netherlands)
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We zijn over donkere paden gegaan; zacht knerpend grind onder de voeten; een knikje, een glimlach, maar allen zwijgend in de stille cypressenlaan. Verzameld bij de marmeren koepel in schijnwerperlicht dat schaduwen werpt hoger dan de bomen reiken herdenken wij haar met ons gebed. Daarna stilte, aandachtig zwijgen, allen naar haar toegewend terwijl boven ons de motten fladd'ren, aangetrokken, als wij, door haar licht. |
The Gift
Geoffrey Nash (United Kingdom)
— From last letter of Mihdí Anvarí executed in Shíráz 17 March 1981
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Do you remember now as you went on your way many a holiday with your rogue children running on and the whole world blue and gold under the blazening sun and the ornamental streams whispering paradisal promises in Sa`dí's Garden and the scintillating roses scented like rose-water---do you remember if perchance you saw him--- that silent man who gave his life for you? |
Alláh-u-Abhá
Kaluba Dibwa Lumbaya Muadiamvita (Zaire)
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Aux enfants bahá'ís de par le monde Chantons enfants du monde le royaume d'Abhá au royaume d'Abhá enfants du monde seules les danses et les joies chantons enfants du monde le royaume d'Abhá sont sujets d'amour d'unité et de fêtes au royaume d'Abhá chantons enfants du monde le royaume d'Abhá le royaume est á nous qui taisons nos préjugés et qui aimons les autres au royaume d'Abhá chantons enfants du monde le royaume d'Abhá de par le ciel de sa Beauté Regardons Bahá nous sourire et le Maître nous appeler au royaume d'Abhá chantons enfants du monde le royaume d'Abhá. |
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Bemba Song
Simon Chanda Fesenge (Swaziland)
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Heloline Nasumina Mulinani, Bahá`u'lláh Chorus: Yá Bahá'u'l-Abhá (4 X) Natutashe kuli lesa Watupele nkombe ipya Bushe chinsi tulolela? Nkombe ipya naise lelo. In this day I believe In Whom? Bahá`u'lláh Yá Bahá'u'l-Abhá (etc.) We give praise to God. He has given us a new Messenger. Yá Bahá'u'l-Abhá (etc.) Why then do we still seek? The new Messenger has now come! Yá Bahá'u'l-Abhá (etc.) |
Bahá`u'lláh
Rufino Gualavisí Farinango (Ecuador)
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Words sung to a Quechua melody
Ya Bahá Tu reinarás. |
[no title]
Audrie Reynolds (Alaska)
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Does the brand go to the burning, or the yearning brow Go to the brand? Does the knife curve to the killing Or the willing flesh Curve to the knife? Does the rope coil to the hanging, Or the martyr's neck Coil to the rope? |
Cup of Martyrdom
by Judith Partelow Provost (U.S.A.)
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This is no tepid milky tea-drink for swallowing mildly in shallow conversations. This drink burns strong and bold on tongues yet tastes as sweet as honey. It gathers courage thrusting forward the prior timid towards lands of crawling grasses and stands them under flying bat-wings to test the bitterness. The hearts beat louder with each deep drink slowly drawn from the cup of golden utterances. A zealous song begins its bleating on lovers' battlefields: `Loving, loving' (in new translation) `for dying ties the lovers' knot, in a chain a dancing chorus chasing down a worldly rot. Slipping through the hangman's fingers from the noose escapes the sigh; they cannot slice a soul in splinters; they cannot quell the joyous cry. Churning, churning' (amalgamation) `the bones can pile to the sky. They cannot break the throbbing spirit; they cannot char the name, Bahá'í.' |
Die Seele
Adelbert Mühlschlegel (Greece)
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So zart und klein bin ich, so rein und so vom All durchglüht Du gibst dem Keim den Leib, das Heim. O, bleib'um mich bemüht! Ich wachse hier, Du, glaub' es mir, was heimlich in mir ruht. Da leuchtet Er, und das ist mehr als Hirn und Herz und Blut. Noch ferner Klang zum schweren Gang ins Zeitliche gebannt, zu Freud und Zwang, zu Jubelsang, zu dir, mein Heimatland. |
page 988
The Banishment
Larry Rowdon (Canada)
Accompanied by a number of frail-bodied men and children of tender age1 . . .
It is how one imagines |
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1 Bahá`u'lláh, referring in part to His exile towards `Iráq. See God Passes By, pp. 106-109, and Balyúzí, H.M., Bahá`u'lláh, the King of Glory, pp. 102-105.
page 989
Indivisible from Us
Victor de Araujo (U.S.A.)
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Indivisible from us, these children walk their last inevitable miles--- a marathon from no free choice-- hoping to snap the finish line alive. When they cross bridges they cannot recall a starting point, nor see how near to the race end: just catch their breath, and take one further step. They die and live in us, these children, holding spirit tight to body, as if a loosening grasp might mean a stop, an end too soon---without a second chance, no way to travel back. Tomorrow, brothers, sisters, may well not start the trek, lie under blankets at some camp, having overslept their human time. |
Lullaby
Martyn Burke (Belgium)
In the heart of a stone |
Despertar
Mary Carmen Lozano (Spain)
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Un mundo mortecino extiende sus alas hacia la Infinita Luz del Alba. ¡Pobre humanidad adormecida! Ya llegó el Día con resplendoras de fuego, ardiendo en alegría. Ya el Gallo cantó con clara y profunda voz, dando la Buena Nueva, inundando los corazones desde las Altas Ramas del Reino de Abhá. Pero ellos . . . Sienten la Luz en sus entrañas? Desesperados, bostezan los hombres. ¡Oh tú, Pueblo!: Amanece, puntea el Sol en las colinas. Nunca más podrás cerrar los ojos ante la belleza del Paisaje. Abrelos, pues . . . No dejes que el egoísmo nuble tus pupilas y no veas más que transfiguradas apariencias, cayendo en el fango de tu existencia. Abrelos, pues . . . que tu espíritu vivificado por el Esplendor de la Aurora aleje, día tras día, las vanas fantasaís de un ego moribundo. ¡Vuela hacia la Luz, Hermano! |
Elegy
Shirin Sabri (Cyprus)
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Here in the Gardens, on the paths Where sparrows with brown tabby wings Skip bright and simple Catching up each pilgrim's crumbs, On the shaded sward where blackbirds page rance and cock their saffron beaks, Where a red crowned woodpecker, upside down, Hammers at silver twisted bark--- Here in these Gardens we walk and grieve The scars on one child's downy leg, The mark of every stone that's flung, The deaths in prison, told, The loss of every dear and helpless man. Yet in these gentle Gardens, at dusk A robin trebles undisturbed, And, at dawn, surprised by prayers, Frail ears flick, a rabbit scuds Breathless among roses, unpursued--- And stories weep from lip to lip, The honour of dishonoured names, A peasant woman's burning hair, Raped innocents, their souls unstained, And payment for each bullet used. While here, in our sweet Gardens, still, Green wood-sparrows will bow the twigs Of Cypress trees, and sunbirds Flicker among shifting leaves Where purple bougainvillaea teems, And blossoms ripen into fruit, even As the broad summer's flame tree flourishes. |
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[no title]
Carol G. Handy (U.S.A.)
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Having loved Thee first in contemplation sweet prayer and my soul's debauch (drunken with Thy wine); dropping daily to the knee in adoration to all things as I thought preferring Thee (or else that uterine sensation); I was none the less rocked, held in holy arms and fed. Filled were all the empty places deserts, grey desolate dead stretches of loneliness and my bloodless heart devoid of all graces, blessed and brought to moist and beating life. A living heart, pulsing with the rhythmic dance of feeling servant of a serving soul finds less time for kneeling. |
Passando in Treno Davanti a Portofino
Agnese Boerio (Italy)
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Pensieri come bianche vele sull'azzurro mare nel sole di Portofino vanno sulle ali del vento ... E l'eco, di rimando, in un sussurro di preghiera, col treno in corsa ripete e va: Alláh'u'Abhá! . . . Alláh'u'Abhá! . . . Alláh'u'Abhá! . . . |
Why I Like Religion
Charles P. Martin (U.S.A.)
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Some people say it's an existential guilt reaction Due to anxiety repressed during childhood, And only now coming to the fore. Some people say it's a miracle. Some people tell me it's related To being helpless, and wanting to change the system. Other people are very sure That it's because I have a sense of my own mortality, Or perhaps a vague awareness Of some of the larger themes in life. Some people say it's because I hate my mother. I say it is waking to wind chimes, The sound of rain, The smell of bacon, The sudden jolt of spiders on my skin, And the knowledge that sometimes page eople aren't enough. I say it comes from dying, And living again. |
A Glance at History
Ron Beavers (Israel)
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If there is yet time My children will play by the fireside. And someday they may Shake their heads in disbelief As they stride forth from these ruins With hands clutching tightly Their children's hands And their hearts clinging to A larger blueprint, A greater Revelation. The future is assured: Millenniums are More lasting than decades. |
Naw-Rúz
Carlos Salomão (Portugal)
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Hoje é Naw-Rúz um dia mais de Amor um dia mais de Luz em cada coraão Hoje é Naw-Rúz neste mundo dos homens meus irmãos Hoje amai a Unidade no Profeta que está junto de nôs na participaão das oraçes na verdade de Abhá Hoje não estamos sós Hoje é Naw-Rúz |
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Aunque Somos Así
José Luis Marqués (Spain)
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Somos los cimientos de una nueva tierra, somos las semillas de un nuevo jardín. Ingenuos, sencillos, humildes y pobres, con mil problemas, con mil deficiencias, hemos sido escogidos para ser transformados, para ser portadores de una mueva luz. De negros carbones nos ha hecho Dios sus diamantes; de granos de arena, ahora somos sus perlas mejores; somos las gotas de agua transverberadas por la Gloria del Sol. Ninguno se puede gloriar de sí mismo, nada de mérito es nuestro. No ha hecho falta casi ni valor. Sólo dejarse llevar como la hoja en el viento por la Fuerza Suprema que todo lo elige, lo cambia, lo eleva, lo orienta a su fin. Somos las piedras de la celestial Kaaba, Somos los ladrillos de una nueva Jerusalén. Nuestra fuerza es la esperanza de que el Día ha llegado, la obra está en marcha y surge radiante una Nueva Ciudad, la ciudad sin santuario, sin sol y sin luna porque sólo la alumbra la Gloria de Dios. |
Qué Pudiera Yo Decir?
Dennis Pilarte Arcia (Nicaragua)
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Oh! ¿Qué pudiera yo pensar después de conocer tu vida y tu ejemplo, tu |
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Lines from Last Letters
Roger White (Israel)
How simply the fictive hero becomes the real;I leave a wristwatch and a blanket; please collect them . . . Brought to the extremes of our commitment Let us not speak of torture but say death simplifies our gestures, pries us from abstractions. The cloak and flourish put aside we seek a humble order, a final dignity, our testament the cordial instruction of vacationing householder to milkman. If I have offended anyone I ask forgiveness . . . Finality too has its protocol. If we die well and decorously it is our sanctioned custom. We are reconciled to our convention though no one sees and the world's cameras and microphones distractedly avert their glance. We have heroic models in these matters, know our end has meaning if only light and shade come clear again in a blurred age. I had no time to finish weaving bracelets for our daughters . . . Reasonable men desire to leave mementos and we are reasonable men, moderate even in our regret and gladness . . . Death might blush to call us from our innocent concerns but nothing checks that wastrel's rasher whims. Kiss the children for me and beg them not to mourn . . . How simple it all is, the human pang domesticated in a penstroke. Even the callous might not deplore our final modest question, the one we cannot put to God: My dearest wife, are you well pleased with me? Lord, Lord! accept these as the proper words. |
On Time
Bret Breneman (U.S.A.)
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Riding my days like hump-backed whales or dolphins that dauntlessly dart, wondering when it will start: the Day of Light with its timeless sails. Riding leviathan-style--- above, beneath, and in-between--- can't view the sun-struck scene or see supernal smile. Riding the creature He formed for me that dies when we once arrive, hoping to get there alive where the sun is the essence of sea. Dolphins, whales, must you dive, must you plunge so endlessly? |
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