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Memories of Khorasan E-mail

Man is forgetful
But the land remembers all
Each battle, each victory, each gain, each loss
Every birth, every death, every step, every fall
Memories engraved in the wind
Calling for a time long past and for a people long separated
There were days of glory
And there were lands made for kings
History and blood mixes in stories
In tales of conquests and destruction
The victor tells the world what to remember
And the victims are shown what their descendants have lost
The outline of a faded empire
Mirrors the soul of a Tajik
His heart divided the way of his homeland
Scattered pieces across rivers and mountains
Across wide plains and borders
Though man forgets
A Tajik should always remember
The land that stands under his feet
Remains as a ghost of days departed but not sealed
If he listens, he will hear
Bukhara talk of a time of knowledge
When once it stood as a source of light
Home of physicians, historians, poets, and artists
It was Bukhara that shielded Avicenna as he completed his work
And its beauty and abundance of culture
Overwhelmed the likes of Rumi and Rudaki
Samarqand, a city of legends
A turquoise gem that awed even Alexander the Great
With a majestic reign that recalls days of ancient civilization
Its beauty weaves an enchanted spell
That can never be forgotten
Herat, the pearl of Khorasan
One that shines even in the face of peril
Where literature flourished
And a great Queen, Gawarshad, rests in peace
Ruins of ancient structures hints of a time of virtue
Now recognized only behind the eyes of its people
Balkh, Bactra, Bactria, Bukhti
Cry out any of its names
And find refuge in its sanctity.
Whispers of love and loss like a deep collective sigh
From Rabi'a, Daqiqi, Anvari
The peaceful words of Zoroaster carry on it the wind Finding a home in the hearts of the people
The heart of Rumi beats strongly yet under its earth
And more so it lives from the sacrifices made
From its beloved son Zabiullah
Whose essence is with those who have also fallen
Kabul, shielded between mountains
That preserved its grace and pleasures
And though times will still tell
Of an evil that shook its security
The soul of such a land will never shatter
Panjshir, the valley of hope and greatness
Where Massoud the lion once roamed
Between its peaks that reach toward a beautiful heaven
The embodiment of a bittersweet resistance
These are fields and mountains and rivers
That creates all that is good in life
An empire that was magnanimous in nature
And steadfast in enlightenment
Has the scent that appealed benevolence wondered too far?
Has the sun set on this glorious site?
Where does the heart of a Tajik lay now?
This is the act of remembrance
Echoing deep inside of him
These are the ashes of a phoenix waiting to arise
And above all, this Khorasan was his
before the world laid claim to it
 
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