Call to Arms

Only you, O Iranian woman, have remained

In bonds of wretchedness, misfortune, and cruelty;

If you want these bonds broken,

grasp the skirt of obstinacy

Do not relent because of pleasing promises,

never submit to tyranny;

become a flood of anger, hate and pain,

excise the heavy stone of cruelty.

It is your warm embracing bosom

that nurtures proud and pompous man;

it is your joyous smile that bestows

on his heart warmth and vigour.

For that person who is your creation,

to enjoy preference and superiority is shameful;

woman, take action because a world

awaits and is in tune with you.

Sleeping in a dark grave is happier for you

than this abject servitude and misfortune;

where is that proud man..? Tell him

to bow his head henceforth at your threshold.

Where it that proud mane? Tell him to get up

because a woman is here rising to battle him;

her words are the truth, in which cause

she will never shed tears out of weakness.