Call To Arms

Only you, O Iranian woman, have remained In bonds of wretchedness, misfortune, and cruelty; If you want these bonds broken, grasp the skirt of obstinacy Do not relent because of pleasing promises, never submit to tyranny; become a flood of anger, hate and pain, excise the heavy stone of cruelty. It is your warm embracing bosom that nurtures proud and pompous man; it is your joyous smile that bestows on his heart warmth and vigour. For that person who is your creation, to enjoy preference and superiority is shameful; woman, take action because a world awaits and is in tune with you. Sleeping in a dark grave is happier for you than this abject servitude and misfortune; where is that proud man..? Tell him to bow his head henceforth at your threshold. Where it that proud mane? Tell him to get up because a woman is here rising to battle him; her words are the truth, in which cause she will never shed tears out of weakness.