Tahirih is probably the most well-
known woman in Babi-Baha'i history. She was one of the chief
disciples of the Bab and best known for having signalled the new
religion's complete break with Islam by throwing aside her veil. She
was executed in 1852. Her last words (perhaps apocryphal) are
said to have been, "You can kill me whenever you like, but you
cannot stop the emancipation of women."
Tahirih's poetry expresses her ecstatic love for God and His
Manifestation, her fascination with suffering and martyrdom, her
messianic fervour and apocalyptic expectation for renewal of the
social order, and her hostility towards traditional clergy. Here is
one of her most strongly revolutionary and anticlerical pieces:
Truly, the Morn of Guidance commands the breeze to begin
All the world has been illuminated; every horizon, every people
No more sits the shaykh in the seat of hypocrisy
No more becomes the mosque a shop dispensing holiness
The tie of the turban will be cut at its source
No shaykh will remain, neither glitter nor secrecy
The world will be free from superstitions and vain imaginings
The people free from deception and temptation
Tyranny is destined for the arm of justice
Ignorance will be defeated by deception
The carpet of justice will be outspread everywhere
And the seeds of friendship and unity will be spread throughout
The false commands eradicated from the earth
The principle of opposition changed to that of unity.
Another poem is written in a style similar to Rumi's Divan-i Shams-i
Tabriz and conveys the ecstatic quality of Tahirih's poetry. I have
only translated a small portion of it:
In the path of your love, O Idol, I am enamoured with torment
How long will you ignore me, I am grief-stricken
My face veiled, my hair torn out
I have separated myself from all creation
You are the light, you are the veil, you are the moon, you are the
horizon . . .
The next poem shows Tahirih's longing for martyrdom:
In the land of your love I remain, finding no favour from anyone
See what a stranger I am, Thou who art the King of the land?
Is it a sin, O Idol, that my every breath breathes the mystery of
your love?
Separate me, kill me, take me unjustly
The time of patience has ended, how long should I stand
separation?
When every piece of my being, like a hollow reed, tells a sad tale
Reason cannot apprehend you, souls die of your thought
All at the door of existence are nothing, you are ultimate
When the zephyr passes by bringing news of their destruction
Making pale the faces and the eyes weep, what would be your
loss?
You step to my bed in the morning out of compassion, I fly with
both wings and hands
When you rescue one from this place, you will take her to the
placeless place
Then I will let go of the soul of the world, for you are the creator of
all souls.
The last poem, which I will give only a small portion of, is probably
the last one written by Tahirih. It refers to her interrogation by two
mujtahids or ayatullahs who signed her death warrant. The poem
reflects Tahirih's disappointment but not despair; her
disillusionment but no loss of vision.
At the corner of the lip, a single beauty mark and two black tresses
Alas, for the bird of the heart, a single grain and two snares
A constable, a shaykh, and I; the talk is of love.
How can I reply to them; one boiled and two raw?
>From the face and the locks of the Idol my days are as nights.
Alas, for my days, day is one, night two . . .
More poetry by Tahirih and other Baha’is can be found on the excellent web sites listed below:
http://www.oocities.org/Athens/Oracle/5016/sema.html
http://www.interlog.com/~winters/books/msbr12.tahirihnabil.html