Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Blood Red Desert Sand


To support you, thousands vowed,
To make Islam and history proud,
Then the hour came, and loyalty hid behind a cloud,
And none remained from the Kufan crowd,
Leaving the master, to be struck in prayer as he bowed…
Ah! Struck in prayer on the blood red desert sand as he bowed…

Ali Asghar the infant and Sakinah the innocent daughter,
Thirsty and deprived of even a drop of water,
Hearts break, and the mother falls into a swoon at his slaughter,
And the pure blood, trickling to the desert floor made it hotter…
Ah! The burning blood red desert sand growing hotter…

Al Husain will be weakened by the loss of his brother, as his helpers grew less,
But al Abbaas cannot return to the camp, after so much hope, waterless
Despite the triumphant cries of war, there is a shocked moment of quietness
As the lion son of a lion is felled for standing by righteousness
Dhuljanaah returns to the camp, head bowed, rider-less…
Ah! The horse returns, from the blood red desert sand rider-less…

Those who called you to save them scattered,
When the order of yazid in blood was lettered.
Nothing else could have mattered,
When every inch of me was bruised and battered,
And the core of my soul, broken, shattered,
At the sight of your innocent blood, upon the earth splattered…
Ah! The innocent blood, on the blood red desert sand splattered…

This deserted land, that witnessed the fray,
In the battle to the death, between justice and play,
Where for the last time this earth witnessed my master Husayn pray,
Before his severed head, un-cradled, on the burning desert lay,
And the haunting echoes of Sakinah's farewell play.
Here my soul will live and die, here my heart will stay…
Ah! On this blood red desert sand my heart will forever stay!

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Towards Karbala We March


Watch the figures walking the path of honor,
Leaving Madinah behind,
The soil upon which Zahraa (a) prostrated,
Pieces of heaven amongst the scattered graves in Baqee.
Leaving behind the lonely dome of Rasul,
Echoing with the resonating adhaan of Bilaal,
Towards honor they march.

Across the desert by the barricaded rivers -
A forest of arrows,
On the blood drenched soil.
Where veils will be ripped off,
And water denied.
After limbs are mutilated, and heads decapitated,
Where the cries of a thirst gripped infant,
Are silenced by a sharpened arrows tip.
Where heaven is sold for the promise of a throne,
And heaven is gained by the thirsty.
Towards heaven they walk.

To the land of the free,
To kiss the sand perfumed by the blood of martyrs.
Bravery epitomized in the acts of submission,
To the will of the Master,
Against the wish of the king -
Towards Nainawa they proceed.

As we march towards Karbala,
My Lord, let the sun rise again,
On the blood drenched souls of the slaves -
Who could not stand in Karbalaa that scorching day,
And hear the plea: Hal min naasirin yansurna?
Separated from the call of the Imam by time.
My Lord let the moon rise again,
For the thirst filled souls of the slaves -
Separated from their ‘Abbaas.
My Lord let the stars rise again to guide the travelers,
Whose hearts make the daily sojourn,
Seeking their Ali Akbar and Aun and Qasim.
My Lord, lift the veil from the bereaved believers,
Who are broken each time they remember,
The trials of their Mistress Zainab.
My Lord, let the mournful souls arise
From prostration on the sands of Karbalaa,
In the caravan of their master Sajjaad.

My Lord, accept every fumbling step we take,
In our blinding grief, and newfound relief,
As we embark on our path to You,
Towards the shore of the Euphrates we march -
For the company of al Husayn we search…
For the company of al Husayn we search.