Recently, within great Ramadan

The hoopoe landed in trembling Tehran

Followed by winged aspirants alighting

Troubled by this realm engulfed in fighting

A lark from Western Europe twitched and yelled

As missiles rocked and shook the ground, from hell.

“Why here now, dear guide?” He chirped perturbed

This place: the most precarious in the world”

Another traveller hid within his wings

“I’m hiding from that which fortune may bring…”

The hoopoe glanced around and with a sigh

The tears fell and, with love, began to cry

“This is my home, from which I was conceived

From deep imaginations was I weaved

And now these shells from hell, they plague my earth

This pure and fragrant land, heart of my birth

I’ve brought you here because in lands besieged

The Simorgh sits among the poor, aggrieved

And if his sight would fall upon your soul

You will become enlightened, cured, a whole

These people and they’re mountains are surrounded

By forces that even make imps confounded

And now a raging force, a wind so fell

Is blowing through their lands like smoke from hell

They need our prayers, but we need there’s as well

As with the old and vulnerable Simorgh dwells

If you can steel your fears and hold your nerves

Wait here with me, you’ll get what you deserve

But if the fear of death, your heart it grips

Then maybe you’re not ready for this trip…

When you behold the Hoopoe as your guide

Just know, our quest is not an easy ride”