By: Dr. Adnan Bouzan

Oh, the flames of longing blaze deep inside,

Can the fire of yearning in my chest subside?

This land is drowning in endless grief,

Scorched by the flames of tyranny’s thief.

Is the early tide of blood not streaming wide?

In Rojava, the winds of death expand with pride.

And Rojhelat, a haven turned to demise,

Where the free stand shackled before our eyes.

Conscience cries out, but who will heed its call?

In a crowd of silence, does a voice stand tall?

Rise and defend the dreams we hold,

If our land could speak, its pain untold.

A sword speaks louder than a thousand speeches,

A spear, in truth, further reaches.

Do not seek honor from those without might,

Who sold the land, and dreams took flight.

Wounds and massacres in every space,

As night drapes sorrow on glory’s face.

My land speaks of glory's radiant flame,

Yet today, it rises clothed in shame.

I weep for you, O land forlorn,

Memories scattered, like past dreams torn.

Bashur screams through slaughter’s eye,

The wind weeps, echoes cry.

We came to you, O land, trembling in pain,

Where death guards fields the rivers sustain.

How many tyrants have screamed at night,

As the free are slain and darkness gains height?

Where are the swords that once inspired?

Where are the armies? Has honor retired?

This land bleeds, none bear the sight,

Who weeps has room in tears so bright.

My land cries out from pain untold,

Is there a voice of truth so bold?

Or are they remnants, enslaved in shame?

Disgrace weeps for them, hearts tame.

This is my land, yet for the exiled one,

Only wounds, tears, and agony run.

Tears will not cease until it flies,

Its banners high, as the enemy dies.

O you who let the free man’s blood spill,

As truth is slain, and history pleads still.

What have we gained but deceiving lies?

Our dream shattered where the wind flies.

Principles tossed on passion’s land,

Where the vile walk hand in hand.

I called upon those who guard the free,

But only treachery answered me.

If those who sold my land feel no regret,

Then death upon them is justice met.

Still, in our hearts, pain is drawn,

Ink of wounds on ruins worn.

If freedom’s fate is delayed to mourn,

Its day will come, though fears are born.

Those who betrayed the land shall grieve,

When fate decrees, their reign shall leave.

I cried, O homeland, my soul is torn,

Will sorrow’s hand restore what’s worn?

If our sword does not uphold our case,

Shall the free bow to the oppressor’s embrace?

Rise and ignite the flash of fight,

Only the blade shall set things right.

No good in life for those who kneel,

He who bows shall always reel.

Glory awaits where struggles rise,

When the free prepare, it fills the skies.

Do you not see the raging winds,

As fate upon itself descends?

What worth are morals in a time,

Where honor’s sold, and truth declines?

If silence is the plague we bear,

Only the sword can clear the air.

If in our tears our fate we trace,

No path but steel shall take its place.

O homeland, my soul is thine,

On the day of sacrifice, my life resigns.

You shall return, O land so bright,

Though sorrow’s tears dim the light.

If life means death in disgrace to see,

Then death is dearer, let all agree.