A witness is a witness, of the Ummah or the Cross,
If the cause is born of Heaven, no honour counts as loss.
Whether Polycarp of Smyrna, John’s disciple to the end,
Guarding still the Master’s message, faithful witness and friend.
Or Perpetua of Carthage, noble daughter standing tall,
“I am Christian,” she declared, though death itself would call.
Then Justin the Martyr, steadfast, reasoned, unafraid,
“I will not leave the truth for error,” boldly he conveyed.
Witness or martyr, both endure,
Holding fast when trials obscure.
Sabr beneath affliction’s flame,
Different tongues, yet much the same.
The chain of witness binds mankind,
Souls of courage intertwined.
To honour those who came before
Does not diminish us the more.
They lit the candles of their age,
A light preserved on history’s page.
Yet among the noble souls who shined,
One stands foremost in my mind:
Hussein the Martyr, Karbala’s sun,
Whose witness crowns what others begun.
His blood became a living creed,
The highest form of faith in deed.
