Salafi

Indeed, the gates of Paradise are under the shadows of the swords.

—Jami` at-Tirmidhi, Book 22, Hadith 42

As heathens spread in sin and blight, we die.

While heathen cannons arc in flight, we die.

Eternal rising with the setting sun,

the morning star, it burns so bright we die.

Your tears are wasted prayers that go unheard.

It matters not what wish you write, we die.

Your shape was drawn from clay in desert heat;

admit, if dirt, it’s only right we die.

So dust we are, but choice remains of ash!

If choosing fire in holy light we die.

Divinely held esteemed forever more,

in draping shawls of martyred white we die.

Depart this world with burdened hearts fulfilled,

with afterlife in line of sight, we die.

Behold, the promise we to heaven made!

Oh, hallowed brothers, stand! Tonight we die!

• March 2026