PART I: Shadows

YOUNG MAN:
Shadows fall.
The oppressed and innocent bawl.
Plumes of smoke and wisps of fire
Rise from ashen domes and spires.
When will this horrible civil war end?
When will the wounds of history mend?

Above the capital city, darkness peels—
As the first rays break, human horror is revealed:
Battered bodies lie bloodied upon the roadside—
Waves of mortal remains flowing in an endless tide.

Autumn mists roll from the remnants of night:
Survivors search for loved ones among the dead;
Families huddle in tents—vacant eyes full of dread.

Minarets and steeples gleam in the crimson light—
Abandoned homes, desolate mosques and churches:
For the answers, my soul desperately searches...

I spend my days in a camp for refugees,
Trying to help the homeless and bereaved.
By the Dawn and the Ten Nights,
We are One Family in Heaven’s sight.

PART II: Amira

YOUNG MAN:
Through the days, I touch the hand
Of my raven-haired Amira.
In the night, I bask in the bright light
Of my ebony-eyed Amira.

My best friend—in a headscarf white—
Is watched by eyes of scorn and spite.
Her family came to escape persecution,
Only to endure equal discrimination.

The afternoon air of the city
Becomes colder as we walk past
The ruins of museums, theatres,
Restaurants, and shops—
Melancholy reminders of the culture
That our country once enjoyed.

Flags of oppression flow across the sky—
Flags of division along each sect’s line:
Houses of Truth burnt in the Name of Freedom;
Families murdered in the Name of Justice.

We walk down the dreary way together,
Receiving sneers from all we encounter:
Her hand holding mine, eyes upon her feet,
Too afraid to return glares in the street.
Every footstep betrays her pain—
Suddenly aware of her colour, faith,
And thickset frame.

Young men shout punishment of sin,
Denying humanity on the hue of her skin,
Laughing that she is a person foul and fell—
That her soul will burn eternally in Hell.

AMIRA:
What do they see? What is it they fear?
We are One Nation on a lonely sphere,
In every beautiful colour of the rainbow,
In One Spirit united—to learn and grow.
I am proud of who I am, who I shall be,
Praising Allah for my life and identity.

PART III: Submission

YOUNG MAN:
Plain white walls and high ceilings—
I am arrested by strange, sacred feelings.
The imam greets us and invites me to pray;
After removing our shoes and washing,
My friend shows me the way...

Around the hall, flowing calligraphy
Adorns the walls in grace and beauty.
Men and women diverge at the door—
Prayer carpets cover the vast stone floor:
Standing, bowing, prostrating in submission
To the Lord and Sustainer of Creation.

A niche in the eastern wall indicates Makkah,
Where Abraham and Ishmael built the Ka’ba;
Above, a moving verse from the Noble Qur’an,
Detailing the Archangel Gabriel’s Annunciation.

The Archangel appeared to the Virgin Mary,
Proclaiming the gift of a boy righteous and holy:
A Word from Him, a New Adam by His Hand—
Jesus the Messiah, a Sign of Mercy for Man.

CHORUS:
God is Most Great! God is Most Great!
In the Name of God,
The Most Gracious, the Most Merciful...

Praise be to God, Lord of the Creation,
The Most Gracious, the Most Merciful,
Sovereign of the Day of Judgement!

Thee alone we worship,
And to Thee alone we pray for succour.
Guide us to the Straight Path,
The Path of those whom Thou hast blessed,
Not of those who hath incurred Thy wrath,
Nor of those who hath gone astray.

PART IV: Truth

AMIRA:
The Divine is found in all things—
In Gautama Buddha, Christ, and Krishna.
In the depths of our hearts, the Lord sings—
Bringing gifts of Compassion and Humility.
Love is the only faith I hold. [1]

YOUNG MAN:
Whichever Sacred Scripture we read,
In whichever church, mosque, or temple we pray,
Or whatever we hold within our hearts,
Wherever we may roam, wherever we have trod,
Truth is God. [2]

PART V: Innocence

CHORUS:
There is no god but God
And Muhammad is His Messenger.
Peace be upon you
And the mercy and blessings of God.
Peace be upon you
And the mercy and blessings of God.

YOUNG MAN:
As believers leave the mosque after prayer,
Explosions erupt and shrapnel sears the air.
All around, innocence in crimson dying:
Mothers, fathers, children, struggling for life,
Screaming, gasping, crying.

My best friend looks at me, a glaze in her eyes,
Collapsing to the ground with a sickening sigh.
Her face and hands are pallor from pain—
Her chest covered by a vast dark stain.

Hands remove mortar and stone—
Dusty, bloodied fingers trembling,
Digging towards a baby’s wailing.
What is scorching shame received
For the peace of our children’s dreams?

I hold her tenderly as rain falls down,
Confessing that I love her—but she is gone.
I kiss her cheeks, her eyes, in gentle sweep,
Her hands, her hair, her brow, as I weep...

O, my love! My love!
I cannot understand.
Why in skin and creed do we despise?
Why do we not walk hand in hand?

Is this why Jesus was crucified?
Why must we hate?
Why must we discriminate?
O, Amira...why must we hate?