Speak to me of the beautiful morning, Of a Jihad flavored with the impossible.Of veiled men who are noble, With no equals in our time.Feed Ashqalan (Ashkelon) with the bread of bullets, And pour over it a cup of gunpowder.See the Jews, the uncouth, fleeing, chained, or killedWhat a moment of glory, it revived every dead, and delighted every generationIt is the triumph, so fill the universe with praise, And admiration for the majestic and beautiful.Do not cease speaking, for my longing, For the talk of jihad is boundless.Indeed, it is a joy that has descended my land, And my people, all of them, and my tribe.And my religion and my nation, I see it as a day of celebration for every family and child.
Delight your heart with this victory at times,For the Jews are but a mirage when we confront them.They fell as slain, captured, and as spoils on their Sabbath,When the army of truth advanced with anger.
A poem called "An Exceptional Morning" says:
They scatter like a flock of locusts; the storm sweeps them away, As if they were bubbles in its currents.
Allah is great, and upon their backs, lava flows, Feeding on skulls and scattered limbs.
Another:
The ink inscribed by the Qassam Brigades,A noble declaration of glory and honor.Stars arose with dignity and nobility,Defying the roar of the barking aggressor.A night from the heights, its morning radiant,With the sorrow of the Jews and the glory of Islam.
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