Poems of the Uzbek Jihad

Original poems in Uzbek language taken from the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan at furqon.com.

Zindondagi Birodarlar (Brothers in the dungeons)
By Asadulloh Urganchiy

The infidels’ dungeons have been filled today with Muslims, Their only crime was that their beliefs came from the purest, best heart. Young and old, sons and daughters they lie alone in the dungeons, Make duˁa,1 brothers, let us be their rescuers.

Always there are brothers in a state of grief, awaiting a savior, Give your victory, oh my Allah, may You answer my duˁa. Lying in the cold dungeons worse than pits of filth, Til when, o comrades, will they choke down this anguish.

With frozen fingers they scrape away the tears in their eyes, Dreaming with their heads sunken, unable to look up. Hijab-wearing Muslimahs kept locked up in cages, Unable to preserve their dignity, those wretched ones can only weep.

Our brothers are emaciated, their bodies sapped of strength, While even the oppressor swindlers eventually get tired of torturing.


Their hearts have hardened worse than stones, their consciences sold for cash. There is no one more barbaric than him who takes pleasure in others’ suffering.

If I describe the punishments, my tongue will not move even if I want it to. How if I were to punish those infidels in the same way? Growing in hunger throughout passing days, crying sleepless in passing nights, Always with the rememberance of Allah, pain and sorrow leave the heart.

Do not be sorrowful, my brothers, if it is our fate we will meet again, To free you we will fight to the limit of human ability. I long to see your faces, your eyes full of tears, This is destiny from Allah, do not torment yourselves about it.

Even blunt knives can stab well when sharpened. Faith like this can fill your misfortune with light. Surely if they remain, there will be more of these kinds of tests, Sweet lives are wracked with care, and dear blood too often gets spilled.

Their sins are poured out together with their blood, The Rahman2 is exchanging many sweet lives for paradise. Allah picked out martyrs today, as He wills, And Islam today remains destitute in the dungeons of the infidel.

Soothe the punishments to my friends, ey my Allah!

The Merciful, a name of God.

Oh my Allah, may the oppressed one know You to be his friend! From this sickness many are becoming martyrs, again and again, The young children remaining at home are becoming orphans.

Boys and girls cry at home, saying “when will daddy come back?” They keep waiting like this, asking “when will he come through the door?” My heart is on fire at the state of things, from the depredations that oppress my homeland, Still, we Muslims know these days are better than those when we were ignorant of Islam.

We will not forget you, though spring, summer and winter may pass, We will never abandon our goal, though our enemies may be many.

Shahid Marsiyasi (Eulogy for a martyr)
By Mujahid Yusuf Ayyubiy

Calamity weighs heavily on us, and gone are sweetness and delight. Today the eye that cries tears of blood meets no reproach.3

Today the ummah4 has been deprived of yet another hero, Deprived of its Tohir5 who was not devoted to kufr.6

The marthiyah, or elegy, in the classical Arabic poetic tradition usually included the poet lashing out at someone urging him or her to pull it together and stop lamenting. 4 The ummah is the Islamic community.

They were separated from their Toriq7 who made war and set his ships ablaze, They have been separated from their Foruq8 who divulged the truth to all the people.

They were separated from him, their armor which repelled the sword-blades from their bodies. They were separated from their Tolut9 that conquered many though his forces were few.

The mujahid left behind an orphan and he was separated from his child. In an instant Muthanna was separated from Khalid.10

It was separated from his strength, as solid as Timur’s,11 They, Alp Arslans12 all of them, were severed from their Turk generations.

The oppressed ummah was deprived of a passionate savior, It was deprived of the avenger who made the head of the idolater bow.

They were deprived of their fearless lion who struck terror into the infidels’ hearts, They were deprived of their saber that severs whatever it falls upon.

While you stay in the fortress, the road is opened to others.
5 6

Probably Tahir ibn Husayn, famed valorous governor of Persia under al-Ma’mun in the early 800s. Kufr: unbelief, infidelity. 7 Toriq is Tariq ibn Ziyad, the leader of the Musim conquest of Spain who famously set fire to his fleet so that his soldiers would have no option of retreat. 8 Foruq refers to Umar ibn Abd al-Khattab, the second caliph. The name Fârûq means one able to distinguish between right and wrong. 9 Talut is the Islamic name of the biblical Saul who in the Quran leads a small band against Goliath’s forces. 10 th Muthanna ibn al-Harith and Khalid ibn al-Walid both figured in the Musim conquest of Persia in the 7 century. 11 Timur, a.k.a. Tamerlane the conqueror who is claimed as an Uzbek hero. 12 Alp Arslan was a sultan of the Turkic Seljuq empire.

If you vigorously strive in battles, the infidel corpses will be plentiful.

You made flame and burn the grief of the ummah, from morning til night, You put the flame in your heart upon the infidels.

You are a master in courage, and the courageous are mere students to you, Illimitable victories you achieved with your martyr’s blood.

You cast your gaze at life from its summits, like a falcon, Just as from the word kufr you remained fastidious from being called unzealous.

Whomever it was you fought to make bow, you struggled to the end, You traded a thousand degradations for one exalted day of life.

You always had “shariah or martyrdom!” as your motto; You never consented to live one day of ease – you would have been ashamed to.

You awoke a believer among the partisans of jihad, To give life back to the dead is no one’s task but Allah’s.

At the call my Allah you threw away the world (dunya), No unbeliever – perhaps you attained the highest of goals.

We surrender to the destiny decreed by Allah, and we say “One day we will return to Allah’s hands.”

Although you are not here among us in heart and body, Still, to our hearts you are the ember that ignites the fire of Jihad.

Yes, you are in our hearts, urging us on to jihad, You strive for the sublime purposes, like making your religion exalted.

We too followed after you, and we do not fear, and we do not hide. By Allah! We will not swerve from our road for one moment.

Whoever lives like you with sincerity in his purpose Is a blessed one who attains paradise, and whose protection is his sword.

Mujohiding kutib ol, ona! (Go to meet your warrior, mother!)
By Shahid Abduxoliq

Oh destitute mother left in sorrow, Open your embrace, quickly, go receive him! From behind the high snowy mountains If your son comes, he’ll have a gun in his hands.

Please understand his intentions.

He was shared with the Islamic ummah. They taught him the Qur’an. Doing jihad is service of Allah.

Training in Tajikistan, Growing in the mountains of Kyrgyzstan, Without bending his head to unbelief this day, Today he stands proud in Uzbekistan.

Your son has not abandoned you, And neither is he afraid of the infidels. What you hear from me he too would tell you, Do not think he has fled his homeland.

Seeking the permission of Allah Your son read the Qur’an, It would have to be an infidel Weaving such slanderous tales about him.

Perhaps his bride still sits weeping, and Your grandchild too has cried himself out. Enduring sorrows day and night, Your little heart, mother, has sunk to the depths.

All this your valiant son knows –

Insholloh13 he will wage jihad. Dear mother, may he find contentment in that. If it is made his lot, he will become a martyr.

On the day of judgment he will be among the martyrs. I will not be astonished to see that this is so. Saying where are you? oh martyr’s mother, Oh mother, they will ask for you.

Make ruins of the heart of unbelief! Your son has come, oh desperate mother, Surrounded with butterflies. Come receive your mujahid, mother!

Tolibon (Taliban)
By Shahid Zubayr ibn Abdur Rahim

The Tolibon have plunged deep into a life of war and conflict. Barefoot the Tolibon persisted in hunting the enemy. They put on tattered shoes over their bare feet, And eat their fill on nothing but non14 and water.

13 14

Arabic in sha’ allah, God willing. Non is a flatbread like Indian nan.

Some of their martyrs still up on the mountaintops in the eternally-preserved snows, With their property and their lives those Tolibon purchased paradise. With mortars the Tolibon ran off tanks from the battlefield, The Tolibon went climbing steeply up in planes.

The Tolibon fired, the weapons of the Russians against their shoulders. For one prisoner the Tolibon gave up 8,000 martyrs. Their martyrs are in the mountains, their houris are in the gardens Until judgment day will they persist. The Tolibon live on yet.

The Tolibon have carried out the justice of Allah for the people. America and Russia must hold their tongues – the Tolibon have struck awe into them. The Tolibon strung up the Communists in Kabul. For Ozodlik15 Tolibon and for BBC Tolibon!

Tog’dagi Payrador (The sentries in the mountains)
By Shahid Zubayr ibn Abdur Rahim

Little butterflies of snow fall and accumulate. My huddled body shivers from the cold. But I, I take pleasure in this view, I slowly weave my steps back to our cave.

A news network in Uzbekistan.

Over those rocks protruding there, I lower my martyred friend down into the earth. What do I await, standing sentry here? I often lose myself in daydreams of the hope of paradise.

I remember my mother, my father and my child. I have fallen into longing for my homeland, homesick and agitated. But I was also passing on from this mundane world When with faith I placed my feet on this road.

My goal is the contentment of my Lord alone. Hatred for unbelief flows in my blood. The heart beats with a loud thump, with energy and fervor. If only one day I were to find blessed martyrdom.

If only I knew that one day I would be wrapped in these white sheets, That my comrades would purify my heart with prayer. With clumps of ice and snow caressing my face Laid silently into the bosom of nature.

Bo’lmagin Taslim! (Never surrender!)
By Mujohid Yusuf O’shiy

My pain is such that if I tried today to sing it in a doston,16 I wouldn’t be able to endure living on. Every direction has been filled with infidels. The time has come for us to begin the jihad.

My Lord, give your assistance, my Lord. I have had my fill of the oppression of the idolaters! For You may hijrah17 be done. I am sick of this nation of hypocrites!

Of which one should I tell you, friends? Of Gaza, of Andalucia? My sisters’ blood has been spilled. Or should I tell of the Lal Masjid18, full of sorrow?

If I go forward, there are hypocrites. Behind me are Jews. If I go to the right or left There I find bloodthirsty Christians.

If you look at those who say “I am Muslim” today, Their task is nourishing the vine only. But if they remain generous and decent-hearted,
16 17

Doston-s, or dastan-s, are heroic epic poems popular among Turkic peoples throughout history. Hijrah is emigration, specifically referring to the emigration of Muhammad and his followers from Mecca. 18 A mosque in Pakistan.

Soon that vine will bear forth melons.

Oh Muslims buried in care for this mundane world! Are you so exhausted that you can only lay your bodies down? How can you endure being forced to such a condition? Go off to jihad, do not ever surrender!

Iztirob (Agony)
By Shahid Zubayr ibn Abdur Rahim

If the infidels remain in mastery over the world, If the indigent people continue to walk the streets with hearts on fire, If the courageous people do not leave from my homeland Then let me go out in front of my people Let me gather together like-minded followers.

If the leaders of my people are kidnapped, If false slander enter the heads of the youth, If my body trembles from this oppression, Let me take a gun into my hand, Let me point it towards my enemy’s head.

My people are beginning on the road of disbelief.

If they commit betrayal while grasping the Quran, If they go out fondly on that path of Jews, May I shoot them in their foreheads. May I remain in strongholds taken in the mountains.

If the hypocritical polytheists push their pleasures on you, If the scholars and learned shaykhs spit blood, If they put their signatures onto disgraces never done before, May it be me that spills the blood of this system. May I lay their laws in the fire.

When the believers know the compulsoriness of jihad, When the hypocrites die from the ferocity of our blows, When my Lord’s sanction is given also unto me, May I have ripped through the doors of the mortal world. May I abandon my physical body for my spirit.

Translations by Leopold Eisenlohr.