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Listen to my story, for few remember it:
A gentle sigh is heard o'er desert sands,
The winds that blow in the Caliph's lands,
Where once resided Amirs and Kings,
Where you hear the calls of the Muezzin ring.
If you do not know of what I speak,
Where god protects those who are meek,
Let me tell you of its deeds,
In its land of many creeds.
Dar al-Islam it is called by its people,
Who erect their minarets, not our steeples,
The land where the past lives forever,
The place not by our times severed,
Which calls us to it with siren cries,
And which many have heeded under the skies,
For where else resides the height of civilization?
Where else is there such an elderly nation?
From Rabat to Samarkand one still can see,
What of its greatness that used to be,
The glory of the slaves of Allah,
Which was unchallenged by those who saw
Its golden ages.
But even though its time has passed,
All its splendor harassed,
Still one can feel the ancient time,
The ancient might of Muhammad sublime.
-Tell this story to many, for it has long gone unsung. Do not leave the world of the Ancients to die.
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