If my holy Beloved should
rise from His place again,
a roar of love would issue forth from
the earth where martyrs lie.
If a breeze should blow from the
disheveled tresses of the Beautiful one,
the fragrance of flowers would again
be carried by the wind of Sabá.
If the lover with flowing tears
were unable to rise to her feet,
she would grasp the robe
of the that mighty Cypress.
If the envious one with his chains
could subdue the Sun of the universe,
the holy call would still be raised
from the corner of the Black Pit.
Even were a hundred arrows
of calamity to be unloosed,
the lover’s head would become
a shield for the Beloved’s breast.
It is a bounty to the family of Mahmúd-Nijhád
that from among tulip faces,
from amongst the true lovers,
one like Mona has arisen.
The moth while still burning
was saying: “In the fire of love
the anguished cry of yearning
will rise from our ashes!”
O `Abdí, complain not about the enemy,
for the cries of deliverance
are heard emerging from the voices
of the blood of the martyrs of Bahá.