By JH Sayyar
Beneath pale moon, the mosques lie torn,
Their domes kissed by dawn, drown in dust;
The call to prayer is stifled, walls are forlorn,
The stones bear witness to the traitor’s trust.
The tyrant’s cranes rings through sacred air,
Its echo mocks the silence of the crowd;
The muezzin’s cry lies strangled in prayer,
And heaven weeps, earth will not cry loud.
O asleep hearts, what dream hold your eyes,
When sanctuaries fall to ruthless hands?
Shall you not rise beneath the shattered skies?
Guard the House on which your faith stands?
Awake, awake, O souls, lest history record
You slept, while fell the homes of your Lord.
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