In Susa’s ancient halls, where once she rose,
A queen of hidden courage, brave, composed,
To shatter chains that Haman forged in hate,
And save her kin from Persia’s cruel fate—
Now Hamadan’s old stone, in silence weeps,
Where Esther’s tomb its quiet vigil keeps.
From heaven’s height, the righteous pair looks down,
On darkened rule that wears a thorny crown.
Mordecai sees the land he once redeemed,
Now bound again by tyranny’s cold scheme.
How deep the sorrow in celestial sight,
To witness light eclipsed by endless night—
Yet Purim’s joy, through ages, still proclaims:
From deepest gloom, deliverance often came.
Hope lingers yet beneath the tyrant’s rod;
The God of Esther works through humble blood.