آزادی در بند الفارسية 1447

For fourteen hundred years we have been trapped in superstition,
Like a lost ship drifting on a sea of delusions.

From a faith that stands at odds with human life,
Hailstones of hatred and vengeance rain upon every city.

For fourteen hundred years, women have been called slaves,
And songs of harsh revenge are sung without disguise.

Honor in this so-called noble land has been made cheap,
For a stone-hearted demon never shows mercy to humankind.

Though we keep writing poems of faith and freedom,
We know we’re bound by gold and deceit all the same.

Come for one day to this barren land, O love, be our guest;
In this desert, be rain for the thirsty buds.

Be rain—bring greenness to the heart of the world,
For worldly religionists have filled hearts with blood.