The lover is lost
In the winding alleys of the markets
The haunting echoes confusing
The clink of chains dragging
The sound of betrayal, the sound of shame
The eyes of the crowd boring in
A hazy mist, a line of spears
Upon one a brilliant light
The shock, the grief causes him to swoon
The lover can live no more
A voice, a breeze, so clear so pure
I am the one whom Fatimah raised
The one in whose veins runs the lion’s blood
She, who offered two sons to death
The one, whose brother is Husayn
The one whose veil was snatched
She, whose lips are parched
The one who had to find Sakinah
She, who pleaded “Accept this our humble sacrifice!”
The one who said “Take until You are pleased!”
The one who first saw my brother’s corpse
She, who had to be strong for the feverish, weakened Imam
The one who was paraded through the market
She, who spoke in the court of Yazeed
The sister of Hasan, al Mujtaba of the Ameer a son
The child of Zahraa, of Insiyyah the Hawraa
The daughter of Ali, to Allah the Walii
The grandchild of Rasul, who will quench me at the pool
The servant of Allah, in His name I ask you arise!
A cool breeze, the market is calm
He has lived, died, and lived again
The lover has known his mission.
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