Land of the white minaret

Yateer

Sab'a Sita Ethnain
Land of the White Minaret

Freedom sounds while a whisper travels,
And floats on a road that hugs the towns.
The land of the white minaret is calling,
But it's whisper fails to convince the crowns.

I see the red that paints the walls,
The floors and hands, and all the clothes.
But I see no white to coat the hearts,
Only women and children, in crooked rows.

I see her sleeping with her pretty face,
The girl in purple with her pretty braid.
I gaze upon the red from her,
Where was I, while on the ground she laid?

I hear the chants of my brethren sound,
Of freedom and praise of our Almighty Lord,
But where was I to chant with them?
When mortars, from above, had unforgivably poured.

I bowed my head, so many times in prayer,
But my tongue was tied from sounding my call.
My call to my Lord to ease their pain,
Like the whisper - my utterance -*!began to stall.

The land of the white minaret is calling,
Yet our ears are afraid to capture a word.
While red is painted, I rest on my bed,
Writing my words in hope to be heard.*!
 
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