Not yet the tide of war is spent
Red stains the Tigris's timeless flow
Death's haze cloaks my lovely skies
Stark my temples smouldering glow.

My mothers carried in their wombs
Old spirits of an ancient land
Today my children's pride is torn
By a cursed invader's hand.

Imbued with a stubborn faith
For years I watched each day behold,
-Tho' hostage to a callous world-
My children's spirits strong and bold.

There were days when hunger struck
And ills had found no chance of cure
I saw my children , young and old
Still keep their faith- fine and pure.

My name adorned so many a verse
And long , my gates, the traveller's sought
My glories they could scarce divine
Whose souls by dimes and cents are bought.

I thought those tales of ancient times
The renown that once I had known
Would stay marauding guns and tanks
And let bloom the seeds that I had sown.

I thought there was still the hope
That Time had taught most men to feel
The anguish of the orphaned child
Watching Death its parents steal.

They seek to wrest from deep within
The essence of my children's life,
Their falsehoods born of grasping greed
Condemned me to this ****** strife.

Now will they strip this fallen prey
Like vultures gathered from afar
None sought to hear my anguished cry
Or stem this accursed tide of war.

This ancient land will nurse its wounds
In silence- nor lament the day,
But nightly my desert winds shall curse
Those hands that dared upon me lay.

Tomorrow, Tomorrow -I'll be there
When my tormentors long are gone
So Mother grieve not for your child
Await with me those to be born.

They'll nurture till the end of time
The seeds of anger and of hate,
Raise to the skies my hoary head
And roar defiance at my Fate.

Such thunder will the Heaven's rent
The stars avenging orbs of light,
As ancient spirits across the land
Chain foes to dungeons of the night.

I'll rise again, tall and strong
Eternal as my desert's sand
Nourished by the coursing blood
Of martyrs of this Arab land.