From the Blood of our Nation’s Youth
Keith Thomas
Aaref Ghazvini composed From the Blood of our Nation’s Youth well over a century ago during the Iranian Constitutional Revolution, but his lines have been used to voice the frustration and patriotism felt by Iranians up to the present day. Part lament, part rally cry, this masterpiece blends classical symbols of Persian poetry with enduring grievances over unjust exploitation of the country’s natural resources, violent implementation of rigid ideologies by domestic factions, and losses incurred through involvement of foreign powers. The poet remained true to the principles expressed in this work, albeit with a growing sense of melancholy throughout his lifetime as his vision for a just, prosperous society was not fully realized. It is my hope that one day Iranians will be able to read this poem without relating it to their own lived experiences, but rather with a sense of wonder and appreciation for the sacrifices made by previous generations on their behalf.
The rhyme and rhythm of the Persian original are maintained across much of the English translation, enabling the lines of the poem to be read in either language interchangeably.
—————————————————————————–
From the Blood of our Nation’s Youth
Tulips bloom from the blood of our nation’s youth where they lay
Grieving these toppled trees, the cypress stoops in dismay
In the flower’s shade the nightingale seeks a safe place to stay
Bare like me, sorrow’s torn all the flower’s clothes away
Every shyster and advisor is a crooked pawn
They stole all the silver and gold away from Iran
We weren’t even left with a broken home; it’s all gone
Oh Lord, give the poor their rights; have the wealthy’s withdrawn
For the sake of our tears, turn over every leaf and stone
Cherish our home soil if you have a fistful to call your own
Keep your backbone and think of days worse than those you’ve known
Use your chest to protect the rest from blows the foe has thrown
I moan in pain, having been struck by the enemy’s blast
Any man afraid of death deserves to be declassed
In Lover’s Roulette, you could lose it all once the die is cast
If you claim you’re a man, now’s the time to prove it at last
Aaref never propped himself up with a crutch, not a chance
Like Khayyam, he made pacts with none but a wine glass, not a chance
His heart lost to naught but the tips of God’s locks, not a chance
He never chose shame over his good name, not a chance
Such indecency, cruel world!
Such vulgarity, cruel world!
Steeped in enmity, cruel world!
You’ve no belief, nor morality, cruel world!
Aaref Ghazvini
از خون جوانان وطن
از خونِ جوانانِ وطن لاله دمیده
از ماتمِ سروِ قدشان سرو خمیده
در سایِۀ گل بلبل ازین غصِه خزیده
گل نیز چو من در غمشان جامه دریده
خوابند وکیلان و خرابند وزیران
بردند بِه سرقت همه سیم و زرِ ایران
ما را نگذارند بِه یِک خانۀ ویران
یا رب بِستان داد فقیران زِ امیران
از اشک همه روی زمین زیر و زِبر کن
مشتی گرت از خاک وطن هست به سر کن
غیرت کن و اندیشۀ ایام بتر کن
اندر جلو تیر عدو سینه سپر کن
از دست عدو نالۀ من از سر درد است
اندیشه هر آن کس کند از مرگ، نه مرد است
جانبازی عشاق نه چون بازی نرد است
مردی اگَرت هست، کنون وقت نبرد است
عارف ز ازل تکیه بر ایام ندادهست
جز جام به کس دست چو خیّام ندادهست
دل جز به سر زلف دلارام ندادهست
صد زندگی ننگ به یک نام ندادهست
چه کج رفتاری ای چرخ
چه بد کرداری ای چرخ
سر کین داری ای چرخ
نه دین داری، نه آیین داری ای چرخ
عارف قزوینی
