Romantic Poems

 
Social Poem

Social Poems

 
Epic Poem

Epic Poems


 

Land of Aria


Homeland, O Aryan land

You, the dwelling place of God’s pure light

You, the cradle of the Fravahar and the faith of Zoroaster
The world, in awe of you, bites its finger in wonder
Your fire temple, forever blazing
A symbol of God, the sun, and unshaken faith
You, keeper of the Arzhang and the Avesta
Endless thanks be to Ahura Mazda
You, the cupbearer of the purest drink
We are drunk and spellbound, without a drop of wine
With knowledge, with certainty, with graceful ways
With good words, good thoughts, and noble deeds
You, the home of the Persian tribes
You, Iran — land of the Medes and the Parthians
You, whose kings were Cyrus and Xerxes
You, whose heart overflows with civilization
You, Sohrab and Rostam, Pouria, Zal
Like a hawk above you, spreading wings in your defense

Homeland, cradle of Rakhsh and the arrow of Arash
Oppression melts like wax, while your heroes burn like fire
You bound the White Demon in chains
At every moment you fought, and kept your honor bright
Homeland, image of dignity and courage



 

The Persia Empire


Iran, embodiment of manhood,
Of kindness and loyalty

Mine of freedom, and
Peace and serenity

Birthplace of Zoroaster's faith,
Our sacred cradle

All our lives are devoted to you,
We give ourselves entirely

Your borders rich with endless blessings
Wheat and sugarcane, and
Saffron

Land of Darius and Cyrus,
Our king

Flourishing on the banks of Karun,
Our pride

Chariot of power, our thunderous strength
Creator of the unique Aryan civilization

O all our lives are sacrificed for you,
So you may stand tall,
From our blood

You were created from the love of our hearts
Empty be our poetry without the memory of Layla

May the memory of lovers’ love endure
May our hearts be filled with remembrance of you

Your love grows within my soul
Like Majnun, RAWI is now enthralled



 

Arrow


Upon the Alborz rooftop,
The archer named Arash

Drawn his bow,
With heavy step

Firm as the proud chest of Mount Alvand

Across the vast Lut Desert,
Toward the heights of Damavand

He stepped upon the summit,
The peak of Alvand

He roared from its heights continually,
Proclaiming,
“I am Arash!”

Behold, O Turanian man,
For the strength of my two arms
Seeks the boundaries of the land

The sinews of both arms
Trace the borders of the realm

He called upon Ahura Mazda,
That free man
Drew his bowstring

The dart leapt from the string,
Racing like a single bolt of thunder

Across the breadt


 

warrior


Once again, someone like Arash,
The legendary archer

Or a king, pure from the eternal Aryan lineage,
Like Cyrus, or the Sassanid monarchs

Or Babak,
That same hand-bearer of the sword,
Martyr for the path of freedom

Or Gerd Afarid, that lioness with a warrior’s spirit

Or someone of Rostam’s lineage, victorious,
To carve freedom’s mark,
Shall come
To plant a seedling of green liberty

Once again, someone shall come,
Like Kaveh, the famed blacksmith

Who, with steel and iron,
Or with the strength of his arms,
Drives another Zahhak to the gallows

The Kaveh banner
Remains in its place

O child of faith of this Ahuric soil,
O sharp spear of every remaining Iranian

For the honor of dear, pure Iran,
Thus, RAWI proclaims,
Be a fighter, steadfast in faith


 

Song of Freedom


Blessed is the day,
When the desert blooms with irises

We bring the flower of longing,
And the gift of freedom’s hope

Blessed is the day,
When from the dear, pure soil of Iran
The cypress tree of liberty,
Shall rise like Mazdak

Blessed be the flourishing homeland of Iran,
Forever with Ardeshir, Babak, and Bahram,
Or like Cyrus

Blessed is the day,
When Godarz, that brave Parthian,
For revenge upon the Arab foe,
Or Bahram Shir Oujan,
The veteran of the path of pure freedom

Lines up against the Arab, Turk, or any foreign foe,
Of noble or mortal lineage
To claim vengeance upon the invader

Blessed is the day,
When the tip of the spear kisses,
My valiant archer, Arash by name,
The eyes of the enemy vanish

Blessed be the wrath of Bahman,
Pouring cold and beautiful waterfalls
Upon the chest of this stormy plain

Blessed is it,
When from the silent, stone-cold chest of RAWI
Emerges a mighty river of fireful hatred

To destroy the roots of the ancient trees of oppression and tyranny

Blessed is it,
When the mournful reed’s song of the shepherd
Brings tidings
That Iranian tomorrows are full of love and liberty!