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Poetry

Cyrus the Great: A Call for Justice and Light From Palestine

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I am Cyrus the King, an Achaemenian" in Old Persian, Elamite and Akkadian languages. It is known as the "CMa inscription", carved in a column of Palace P in Pasargadae. These inscriptions on behalf of Cyrus were probably made later by Darius I in order to affirm his lineage, using the Old Persian script he had designed.

Cyrus The Great

In days before the Crescent rose,
Muhammad’s word was not yet known,
A King reigned where the Tigris flows,
On Persia’s plains, upon his throne.

Cyrus the Great, the ancients said,
Shattered the iron walls of dread;
In Babylon’s shadow he carved his way,
A conqueror, both loved and led.

His banners waved from mountain peaks,
His sword held fast by hand divine;
Yet in his heart, a kindness speaks,
A truth that burned like sacred fire.

In Babylon, the Jewish captives sighed,
Their temple razed, their cities gone;
By rivers mourned, by rivers they cried,
For Zion’s hills and holy dawn.

The King spoke in an ancient tongue,
A word that crossed both land and creed:
“Rise, children, to the songs once sung;
Take freedom’s reign, unbound and freed.”

Not yet Muslim, nor bound by law
Of Crescent moon or Islam’s ways.
Yet still he held a blessed awe
And a truth relevant for modern days.

In the Darb-e Mehr, Zoroaster’s fire bright,
The King saw all people as sacred bonds;
He set Jewish exiled hearts alight,
And returned them to their native sands.

Thus rose the walls, the temple grand,
And prayers in winds of Zion cast;
Yet centuries shift like desert sand —
New empires come, old ties are masked.

Iran now bears the Crescent high,
And draws the wrath of Israel’s ire;
Yet in ancient veins still lie ,
Burning embers that never die.

Palestinians call on an ancient name,
Where children dwell in fear and night;
The olive groves are scorched in flames,
In Gaza’s rubble, no dawn in sight.

Where is the hand that once restored?
Where is the voice that knew our pain?
A people fierce in ancient lore,
Revive the ties that must remain.

Republic of Iran, the land of fire,
Remember when Kūruš’s spirit gave
The captives strength, the Jews inspired —
Rise now, as you once did save.

Now Palestinians seek that grace,
A spirit bold, a godly hand unbound,
End hell on earth, please show your face,
Bring justice to this blood-stained ground.

Beyond the East where powers stand,
Their arms feed this endless blight,
Reach out to us, extend your hand — like
Cyrus the Great, bring forth the light.

Read another poem by Skendong: Ba’al vs YHWH: Lost in Translation

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