Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe

O glorious Sixth of October, speak once more,
 From thy bright pages wisdom’s rivers pour.

That day when falsehood’s towers fell in flame,
 And Nile proclaimed: “I crown my sons with fame!”

O victory born of faith and noble art,
 Thy dawn rekindled courage in each heart.

Our leaders carved with mind what swords could not,
 And dreamt a future freedom’s blood had bought.

Sadat — the sage — beheld with prophet’s eyes,
 The storm of war, yet veiled it in disguise.

He drew with light the path for his command,
 To cross, to guard, to sanctify the land.

And Mubarak, rising through the clouds of fight,
 Climbed into glory, crowned in heaven’s light.

He rained the skies with truth and iron flame,
 Till pride of foes in ashes sank and shame.

And soldiers, born from heaven’s steadfast ray,
 Cried “Allahu Akbar!” as they fought that day.

They fasted — Ramadan had lit their soul,
 Their thirst became the fire that made them whole.

Their victory was prayer, their faith their shield,
 Their echo “God is Great!” through every field.

Then came the Sheikh, Al-Halim — serene, inspired,
 Whose dream foretold the triumph hearts desired.

He saw in sleep the armies of his land,
 As angels marching by divine command.

And art arose — from Halim’s song it soared,
 “’Aash elli qal ‘Aash!” — the hearts of Egypt roared!

The Church, in robes of white, knelt down to pray,
 And blessed the brave who marched and passed away.

Then oil and honor spoke from noble hands,
 As Faisal stirred the conscience of all lands.

The Muslim world stood up, one faith, one flame,
 And Iran offered fuel in brother’s name.

They said: “For Egypt, glory is decreed,
 Let hands unite, let nations rise and lead.”

O Motherland, thy light awoke the seas,
 And bound the learned nations to their knees.

Now more than ever, we require thy fire,
 October’s soul — that lifts, that won’t expire.

To free Al-Aqsa’s dawn, to cleanse the pain,
 Let Palestine in dignity remain.

For honor’s fruit no coward’s hand shall reap,
 But hearts of faith their covenant shall keep.

Not through submission does a nation stand,
 But through the steadfast and the pure of hand.

O month of glory, ever shall you stay,
 The bridge of triumph, crowned in bright array.

And Egypt — cradle of the brave and free,
 May God adorn your stars eternally.