Paradise, paradise, paradise—
By God, our homeland, you are paradise to us.
Beloved country, blessed earth,
Even your fire feels like paradise.

From your soil we drank, in your embrace we grew.
We ache for your dust, and your glory carries us—
Lifting us to the summit, to the highest of heights.

Rise, rise, Daraa—
In the darkest nights, you are the spark.
Homs calls out for aid,
The shoulder that carried our sorrow,
The strength that carried us all.

Homs, mother of Arab pride—
Fear bows at your gates.
Hardship does not shake us;
Hardship is what shaped us.
Ask about us—your heroes—
Ask the people of Homs.

Aleppo, land of the noble—
Syria calls your name.
Come to her side, do not leave her,
For your people have long been abandoned.

Hama, forgive us—
We are indebted to you.
You are of us and from us,
And in the Almighty we place our hope.
God does not forsake His people.

Jisr al-Shughur and Rastan—
Singing the melody of sacrifice.
No matter how many you kill or bury,
You bury nations, but you cannot silence them.
Creator, open the gates of paradise for us.

Our martyrs did not die—
Raise your voices for them, daughters of our land.
Servants and companions await them,
By God’s will, they walk toward paradise.

From Raqqa to Qamishli,
The blood of courage burns hot—
Fighting nations, praying through the smoke,
Fighting nations, praying through the pain.
O tyrant, leave us.

Even the free people of the coast
Testify that your end is near.
Your rule is broken, your cruelty exposed,
Your power collapsing.
O coward, leave us.

Turn, turn, turn—
O seagulls, circle the sky.
O martyr, your homeland calls you—
Jasmine and roses in your name.
Pray, our people—
For paradise is our dream.

May God grant us paradise.