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when the dawn had traversed through the dark night
"jab khata ki masafat e shab aaftaab ne"

(Original urdu Marsiya by Mir Anees; translation by Syeda Raza)

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When the dawn had traversed through the dark night

And emerged to display its countenance bright

The noble Lord and Master at the heavens glanced

And cried out to his companions, “Come hither, arise”

 

Praise the almighty God, the dawn is near

Pay tribute to His glory, bow down in His fear

 

Oh warriors, it’s a day of turmoil and din

Here will flow the blood of Mohammed’s kith and kin

The Son of Zahra looks on, face flushed with hope

The hour of keeping a promise has arrived, he wins

 

The heavens will forever weep for Zahra’s Son

He has waited for years for this day to come

 

When the day is gone and the sun has set

The warriors will have journeyed to a place of rest

At the fountain of Kauthar they are to gather and meet

Counted among worshippers, praised and blessed

 

Listed with the illustrious, unparallel their grade

In the cause of goodness, martyred and slayed

 

Hearing the summons, the noble warriors arose

And donned their armor, ready, composed

Eager for battle, no sign of fear or regret

Their amamas tied, before the Imam they appeared

 

Their robes flowing around them, their faces at peace

Steeped in heavenly fragrance their beings indeed

 

Their parched lips uttering verses and hymns

Their faces aglow, free of fear their heart and limbs

Generous, righteous, aware of right and wrong

Compassionate, valiant, distant from sins

 

Their voices mellow and calm, pleasant to the ears

Their speech soothing and tranquil, dispelling fear

 

Dignified, resolute, like lions, brave

Composed in temperament, unparallel in grade

Unquestionable in fairness, righteous, kind

Satiated with life, though haven’t eaten for days

 

The world in their eyes, meaningless, vain

Magnanimous in charity, no want for worldly gain

 

Supreme in discourse, eloquent in speech

Selective in utterance, magnificent in creed

Brilliant with word, unmatched in debate

Their tongues though parched, their discourse sweet

 

The tenor of their voices, of poetic grace

Their lips parched with thirst, yet God they praised

 

Their compassionate smiles, despite the hardship and hurt

They exuded a fragrance, like Yousef’s shirt

Pious, devout, committed, faithful, honored

Angels hovered around them, yearning to serve

 

No shells bear such pearls, no such rubies in mines

These are not mere humans, the angels cried

 

No water for ablutions, but pray they must

So they smeared their faces with the desert’s dust

And their beings glowed from the light within

Shias of Ali, humble, blessed, august

 

Their faces, like the moon, radiated with faith

Anointed with dust, they chanted and prayed

 

Ready for worship, then stepped out of the tents

Sons of Ali and Fatimah, of noble descent

The magnificent Qasim, the handsome Ali Akber

And children of Aqeel, Muslim and Jaafer’s sons

 

Their majestic aura reached the heavens above

Eighteen moons, of faith, of beauty, of love

 

That glorious morning, the fading stars, the dawn

Not for Moses to behold this splendid phenomenon

The humming of verses, the prayerful chants

The chirping of birds, the worshipping song

 

Lavish gardens humbled by this heavenly affair

Fragrance of flowers filled the desert air

 

The wandering breeze filled with verdant scents

Envious were the heavens of these accouterments

Palm trees swaying in the gentle morning wind

The flowers of the desert in soulful laments

 

No jewels could rival the splendor of the sight

As though leaves strung with gems during the night

 

Glory to the Creator who painted such a scene

Bedecked in splendor, a masterpiece indeed

No parallel to be found, no analogy exists

Mere mortals couldn’t create a vision so keen

 

The world enraptured by the glory of The One

A valley of paradise, the desert had become

 

Yet the Prophet’s progeny was engulfed by thorns

Intent on smothering their fragrant forms

Cherished by Fatimah, to be treasured by the world

A garden tended by the Prophet, they wanted gone

 

In the month of Muharram, ravaged and torn

In a forsaken desert, far from home

 

On the day of martyrdom, this garden bloomed

Eager to be slayed, no fear of death or doom

Embracing their departure from this lowly world

Up all night in expectation of what’s to come soon

 

Their fragrance in the air, they rushed towards death

With smiles they departed, no doubts, no regrets

 

Their green tents anchored to the desert floor

An island of goodness, of mercy galore

Under the blue skies and the blazing hot sun

A distinguished family, surrounded, alone

 

Among them those cherished by the Prophet divine

A blessed clan, a chosen group, beings enshrined

 

And as the Imam stepped on to his prayer mat

The desert was bathed in a light unmatched

And his noble companions stood behind him in rows

And Akber’s Adhan echoed in the desert, alas

 

At the sound of his voice, the listeners in awe

As though before them, the Prophet they saw

 

Birds hovered in the air, as though in a trance

And palm trees stood frozen, glued onto the sands

The wind barely moved, and the world stood still

Drawn by the sound, fishes hugged the river banks

 

Such was the miracle of Akber’s voice

That grains of sand in heartbreak cried

 

And in the enclosed tents, the women cried

Akber’s mother stood quietly listening to her child

Zaynab filled with pride and love extolled

Oh my beautiful boy, for you I will die

 

Oh how your voice echoes through this desolate place

Worshipping your Creator, praising Allah’s grace

 

How exquisite is the sound of your call to God

You descend from orators that captured and awed

Blessed with the gift of eloquence unbound

May your voice forever live in minds and thought

 

In the Prophet’s orchard, as though a chirping bird

Until the day of judgment, your call will be heard

 

The prayer began, and the worshippers arose

Standing in rows behind the Imam, composed

The inhabitants of heavens in wonder watched

As the devout men knelt in worship and bowed

 

In prayer, Husayn, a glorious sight

Like an open Quran, emitting a dazzling light

 

In prostration the worshippers whispered to God

Thankful for the blessings they had been endowed

Salutations to the Prophet they chanted with love

And with hands raised, Husayn beseeched the Lord

 

My God have mercy on my thirsty clan’s state

Encircled by enemies, deprived of water for days

 

On this side were prayers, and worship, and hymns

While on the other was cruelty and armies and sins

The son of Saad bellowing on the river banks

His army blocking the way to the luscious stream

 

“Husayn has had no water for days” he yelled with mirth

“Let him languish in this heat, let him die of thirst”

 

On his prayer rug, Husayn heard this cruel call

As arrows landed around him, instigating the war

His companions turned towards him, seeking his wish

And Abbas arose, in his hand his unsheathed sword

 

They hovered around their Imam, filled with love

Yearning to protect him, a desire all above

 

Toward Akber the Imam turned and spoke

Tell the women in the tents to hold the children close

Lest arrows are hurled at our camps and tents

The evil army is staffed with malicious rogues

 

A toddler will not survive an arrow hurled at such speed

Asgher could be slaughtered in his cradle indeed

 

As he spoke, Fizza called from within the tents

“Where must we take shelter?” she cried in lament

“By Asgher’s cradle have arrows begun to land

Ali’s daughters I must protect in every event”

 

The baby up all night in the stifling desert heat

He had just dozed off in the early morning breeze

 

Baquer and Sukayna huddled, a poignant pair

The unrelenting thirst, the burning desert air

Toddlers with faces stained with tears

And mothers heartbroken, full of despair

 

At the sight of the arrows, their hearts fill with dread

Are they to witness a carnage, sands with blood red?

 

And Husayn spoke to his companions dear

They had circled around him, in devotion sheer

The noble Lord turned to them and counseled thus

“Let’s get ready for battle, the hour is near”

 

“Its time to leave this lowly world behind

And enter the gardens of paradise refined”

 

To the tents then he headed to say his goodbyes

And his warriors readied for battle, with fearless eyes

With his armor donned, Abbas restlessly strode

As though a caged tiger, ready for his prize

 

From the reflection of his face, his armor aglow

The shield on his back, in one hand a sword

 

His helmet more imposing than Soloman’s crown

The plume of feathers, majesty abound

Vambrace on arms, the promise of triumph

Awe-struck, people lowered their gaze to the ground

 

When such is your brother, your strength, your shield

Why wouldn’t your chest swell with pride indeed?

 

And alas in the tents entered Fatimah’s son

And saw the women distraught at what’s to come

And heard Zaynab’s whispered prayer to God

“May my brother be spared Oh glorious One

 

May the family of Bano flourish and bloom

Long live her husband, secure from this doom

 

Encircled by enemies, of water deprived

Thousands in the armies call out for his life

Alone, with few friends, where must he go?

With a newborn and toddlers and women by his side

 

Exhausted by hunger and thirst in this heat

This is the state of the Prophet’s clan indeed

 

No Ali, no Mohammed, now under constant threat

The family under attack since the Prophet’s death

The assault on Fatimah, the arrows hurled at Hasan

Now I must weep for Husayn, for what is to come yet

 

Pray, help me find a way out of this forsaken place

We are nothing without Husayn, spare him through your grace"

 

Husayn hugged her close and consoled her thus

The Lord hears your prayers, be patient you must

Filled with power and pride is the enemy clan

I will try to counsel them to be fair and just

 

The time for mourning has not arrived yet

Please fetch the Prophet’s souvenirs, pray do not fret

 

The Prophet’s garment worn on Mehraj was brought

And Husayn donned the robe, Zaynab distraught

The Prophet’s headdress on his head, a poignant sight

Wrapped in the Prophet’s mantle, deep in thought

 

Fatimah’s tattered shawl draped his arm

Thus adorned he proceeded, resolute and calm

 

The air filled with fragrance of the Prophet’s robe

Suffused with the scent, an aroma arose

The scent of Ali, Fatimah, Hasan, and Husayn

The ambience of Panjetan, memories evoked

 

As though perfume had been poured, bouquets of myrrh

The garden of paradise in full bloom on earth

 

And Husayn donned his armor, belted his sword

Zaynab wept at the sight, hugged him close

She whispered her prays with a broken heart

Distraught, alone, surrounded by foes

 

The light within Husayn, through the armor gleamed

And flickered through, like stars it beamed

 

As the son of Fatimah for battle prepared

The heavens shuddered and wails ripped through the air

Gauntlets strapped to his arms, Hamza’s spear in hand

What a sight for his sister who looked in despair

 

His dignity, his stature, his rank, his clan

Unrivalled, exceptional, a truly noble man

 

As he readied to face the enemy vile

His father’s banner unfurled by his side

And the women in grief undid their hair

And wept at his loneliness, a forlorn sight

 

With their swords belted, their turbans tied

Zaynab’s sons by the banner, valiant, ready to die

 

Their sleeves rolled up, their robes wrapped close

With the awe of Jaafer and Ali, their faces aglow

Though mere children, daunting indeed their sight

Firm in purpose, resolute with foes

 

They kissed the banner in reverence and respect

They looked up at its height, its nobility perfect

 

They glanced at their mother, hope in their eyes

They called out to Husayn, “For you we will die”

They whispered to Zaynab, "Mother, what do you think?

Who would be chosen to carry the banner high?

 

Who will have this honor, who will carry it best?

The banner of Ali, on whose shoulder must it rest?

 

If your advice is sought, do remember our names

We hope to be granted this privilege, this fame

In respect of the elders, we have held our tongues

So we upset you not or cause you any pain

 

We are but servants of Husayn, his slaves

We seek to make a mark, to strive, and be praised

 

In the Prophet’s army at Khyber we have heard

Ali marched into battle with the banner unfurled

Envious eyes looked on at this splendid sight

At the honor bestowed to no one else in this world

 

We are his grandsons, we seek such honor grand

Not weakened by hunger or thirst we stand"

 

Zaynab replied, "Speak not of such things my boys

The Imam will decide, we defer to his choice

Say not a word, disrespect it shall be

Do not mention the banner, be humble, be wise

 

Fold your arms, bow your heads, in deference stand

Stay by Akber’s side, wait for his commands

 

Do not eye the banner, lower your chins

Do not trouble my brother with such frivolous things

Do not distract my focus from Husayn on this day

What you seek is not possible, it’s the hope of kings

 

If I say much more, your tender hearts will be hurt

You are but mere children, such things you blurt

 

This mighty banner, can your little hands hold?

Such tender ages, yet such ambitious goals

That you die for Husayn, that you give up your lives

That is the honor you must seek, that is your role

 

I will seek Husayn’s permission, you will say your goodbyes

Today has been chosen as the day you must die

 

Mighty achievements indeed your elders have borne

Honors are bestowed when achievements are shown

Skills in battle are proven, status is displayed

Your lineage from Jaafer and Ali is well known

 

Show your prowess in battle, hold now your tongues

Let the enemy cry out, these are Ali’s grandsons

 

After the army had suffered losses for days

The Prophet, to Ali gave the banner in praise

Having slayed Marhab, Ali turned to watch

As the enemy took flight, shaken and afraid

 

Ali ripped the fortress door from its hinges indeed

As though plucking a leave from a lowly tree

 

For three days now Husayn has been besieged

Armies surround my brother, no respite no yield

You ask not why in despair my hair is undone

You speak of status, of honor, of chivalry indeed

 

Oh how you behave on a day such as this?

You dwell on matters such as glory, the banner you kiss"

 

Arms folded in remorse, the boys, humbled, replied

"Oh mother forgive us, of our purpose we lost sight

We seek no glory, no honor, no praise

We will make you proud, we will display such might

 

When we step into battle, the army will flee

We will serve our Imam till the end, you will see"

 

And Husayn came to Zaynab and kissed her head

Why speak in this way, my sister, he said

Your sons, like lions, will fight you will see

Do not doubt their valor, do not be upset

 

Though young, great values, great goals they hold

Like their elders they are valiant, fearless, and bold

 

At such tender age, look at the grit they display

No doubt that proud they will make you today

They will leave the battlefield victorious indeed

For, as though my sister, you have raised them for this day

 

No doubt they inherit Ali’s courage, his skills

They are young yet they speak of mighty things

 

I will, of course, give the banner to whomever you select

That is your right, my brother, she replied, you direct

And Husayn said the day since my mother passed away

I have seen you as my mother, your will I accept

 

I will honor your choice, dear sister, pray speak

Who shall have this honor?  Who do you seek?

 

She replied, oh my brother, what is your wish?

Who do you have in mind to bestow this gift?

If my opinion you seek, I will share my thoughts

But after the words of the Quran, your words I seek

 

In dignity, in status, in valor, in might

There is none like Abbas for this grant in my sight

 

He adores you my brother, he has served you well

Like a son he is to you, in our hearts he dwells

A ferocious fighter, a brave soul, our pride

He brings us peace, our concerns he quells

 

A courageous, noble soul, a brother, a friend

Singular in status, fearless, heroic, gallant

 

The Imam nodded in agreement, tears in his eyes

This was also Ali’s wish, to Zaynab he replied

Pray call my dear brother, let us honor him thus

And Akber ran to his uncle, filled with pride

 

Come my dear uncle, he implored Abbas

My aunt wishes to see you, for you she has asked

 

And Abbas came, his arms folded in respect

Your sister awaits with the banner, to him Husayn said

And Zaynab looked at Abbas, tears in her eyes

As Husayn handed the banner to Abbas and said

 

It is your sister’s wish that this emblem you hold

As the bearer of my standard, as has been foretold

 

Abbas held the banner, before Zaynab he knelt

She hugged him close and tearfully wept

She said to her brother, remember my dear

Fatimah’s son today, is of friends bereft

 

Protect him and shield him and guard him you must

Take him away to safety, to you I entrust

 

And Abbas replied, until I breathe my last breath

No army will harm him, not until my death

I dare anyone to cast an eye on Husayn while I live

Arrows must first hit my body, my chest

 

I am the son of Ali, Husayn will come to no harm

I will tear him pieces, who attacks my Imam

 

Then turning toward Najaf, he addressed Ali thus

I have been honored my father, so bless me you must

Pray for me father that I make you proud

Protecting my master I die, toward death I rush

 

That before anyone else, it is I who is slain

That my Imam is unharmed, that martyrdom I gain

 

Hearing this Abbas’ wife came to Zaynab and cried

To the Imam’s cause may we be surrender our lives

May we die protecting our Imam till the end

Long live Husayn even if we all must die

 

You have honored by husband, you have blessed our ranks

We are humbled, you have our heartfelt thanks

 

Zaynab hugged her close and softly whispered

May your family flourish, may my prayer be heard

But my lady, she said, to save Fatimah’s son

If a thousand of us are killed, there is nothing to mourn

 

May Husayn’s children live long, may you see the day

When Akber is wedded in a grand display

 

May the Imam return safely back to his home

May the day of his return to Medina come

May the mother of Abbas hug him once more

May we celebrate Akber’s wedding at the Prophet’s tomb

 

May we mark his palms with henna in glee

May we welcome his bride into our family

 

As they spoke, Sukayna came running up to them

Where is my uncle? She cried, What is the event?

I hear of the honor bestowed upon him

I wish to applaud him, has he returned to his tent?

 

May God grant him honors in abundance and more

Let me see what he looks like as the banner he holds

 

Abbas called out Come here my sweet girl

Tell me how you are, with the agony of thirst

Pray go to the river, my uncle, she cried

My lips are parched and my throat still hurts

 

In celebration of your honor, no gift I need

But a sip of water would be heavenly indeed

 

At her words, in the tents many a tear spilled

And Qasim reported that army draws nearer still

Their numbers have swelled, well fed and quenched

They are restless and wild, hungry for the kill

 

As Abbas headed for the stream, banner held high

Husayn said his goodbyes, the hour draws nigh

 

And Abbas rode out, his goal the river bed

Hearts of women and children filled with hope and dread

The Imam waved to his family, leaving them behind

It is time for departure, his farewell now said

 

Glance once more at the departing men, he cried

For you will see them no more, they leave now to die

 

Zaynab threw herself at the Imam’s feet

And Bano hugged her son close, never again to meet

Kulsoom in a corner, as though in a trance

Baquer huddled with Sukayna, the future so bleak

 

The garden of Fatimah, perished and torn

Along with the banner, had left their very souls

 

Abbas leading the way, the banner held high

The small group of warriors, ready and willing to die

For their lord and master, the cause they held dear

And the wailing of women reached the skies

 

Husayn walking alongside, alone, no allies

Like the dew at dawn, tears in his eyes

 

He mounted his horse, with Mohammed’s strength

To face the foretold day his heart intent

And angels and djinn in wonderment cried out

Indeed buraaq has landed once more on earth

 

Such an elegant horse, such dignity such poise

As though in adornment walks a beautiful bride

 

The mount rode out into the oppressive heat

Inhaling the hot air, panted the steed

The riders followed, the banner held high

The rhythm of the hooves, a heavenly beat

 

As though a fragrant wreath, the desert air revived

The small group of warriors in the battlefield arrived

 

The righteous soldiers, a glorious sight

Inspiring awe even in the evil army’s minds

Marching under the shadow of the auspicious flag

The men of Banu Hashim, fearless, upright

 

In the garden of Ali each one had bloomed

Revered in the heavens, to be withered soon

 

Youth among them barely seven or eight

Loose strands of their locks grazing the face

Evoking the strength of Hyder, the valor well known

Skillful in battle, bold, fearless, unfazed

 

Their chests facing boldly the arrows’ path

On the frontiers of destiny they had arrived at last

 

Angels in admiration gazed at the sight

Look at the scene unfolding before us, they cried

Saw the image of the Prophet in the Imam’s face

Chanting salutations, the noble clan they eyed

 

Look at the one that holds the banner so grand

As though with Mohammed, Ali still stands

 

On the day the holy Prophet departed the earth

From the earth all beauty we thought had dispersed

Yet today our eyes bow to the beauty of this lad

So much like the Prophet, of such noble birth

 

Refined in perfection, impeccable, unmatched

As though the Prophet’s shadow on the earth has been cast

 

And soon were arrows hurled at the Imam’s sight

He tried to reason, to show them what is right

Refusing to listen, the vile army took no heed

And the Imam’s companions gave up their lives

 

Valiantly they fought, with their sword and spear

Like Malik al-Ashtar each one battled far and near

 

They faced the army vile, unflinching their faith

Proclaiming loudly their message at the enemy’s gate

In fear the cunning army scattered and fled

They pierced through the ranks, in a fearless state

 

Like thunder they rolled, from the east to the west

Amidst the evil the army, unrelenting their quest

 

The grandsons of Ali, magnificent in fight

Their swords, like the zulfiqaar, delivered fright

They sliced through the army with valor unmatched

Hundreds they injured, countless did die

 

In heaps the treacherous army fell around their steeds

Such was their valor, their bravery indeed

 

In their tender hands, the swords fiercely held

Swift in their movement, undeterred they quelled

Nervous, the evil soldiers looked for cover, ran

Ali and Fatimah’s names in hopes of mercy they yelled

 

The two boys fought so bravely, so skillfully indeed

Displaying the nobility of their blood and breed

 

And the battle of Qasim, history did record

Amidst the swarming army, the lad valiantly fought

Unfazed by hunger or the relentless thirst

He battled with the enemy, stoppable he was not

 

Like Ali his skills, his finesse, his sight

Slaying the evil Arzaq, he laid down his life

 

And as Abbas unsheathed his sword, they caved

And Jibraeel called out, may the earth be saved

The son of Saad took cover behind rows of shields

There was no place to hide, they cowered, afraid

 

Towards the river he headed, seeking water for his clan

There he fell and was slayed, seizing the river banks

 

He had killed many men, of fright or of sword

The army was in panic, helter skelter they rode

A hundred bodies he had thrown into the raging stream

As he sliced through the ranks blocking his road

 

Having filled his water bag, yet not quenching his thirst

He had valiantly fought the army cursed

 

And Akber’s battle in the raging heat is renowned

Charging fiercely at the army, the enemy astound

Well-known warriors lay lifeless on the sands

Their bodies piled high on the desert ground

 

He slashed through the ranks, he sliced through the foes

More fiercely than Abbas, the enemies he drove

 

From dawn till the afternoon, the battles raged

The desert ground shook, the heavens quaked

In scare and awe, angels gathered their wings close

And then the cries had died and the lives had been laid

 

The time for swords and spears had passed

By the afternoon the Imam’s army was emptied alas

 

Each injured body the Imam had carried on his back

That no body is beheaded, he made sure of that

His friends had departed, now truly all alone

In his sighs could be heard the pain of his heart

 

Each parting a calamity, he had borne with such grace

Exhausted, bruised, and thirsty, in his heart an ache

 

He glanced at the bodies of his loved ones around

With their blood his robe streaked, he sat on the ground

In agony, in distress, in turmoil, in pain

The sound of drums filled the air all around

 

The depraved army called out names of the fallen men

With a hand on his heart, the Imam cried out in pain

 

Who better knows the pain of having lost so much?

A lifetime of memories, all turned to dust

Not a moment of peace will such a heart find

So many loved ones gone, so weep he must

 

Their bodies on the ground under the glaring sun

Bruised, battered, and cut, their lives undone

 

The Imam walked to the tents at a desolate pace

Words hard to form, his throat parched for days

Putting his hand on the door of the tent he cried out

Pray bring Asgher to me, what is his state?

 

Let me look once more at this beautiful face

Akber’s little brother who lies in a daze

 

And the women and children ran out towards him

His mother held Asgher, thirsty, weak, and thin

And the Imam took the baby in his arms and wept

Bringing him close to his face, kissed his lips and chin

 

The grief-stricken women and children around him sat

And Husayn sat on the ground, the baby in his lap

 

As he held the baby, the son of Kahil prepared

An arrow in his bow, the evil man paired

And he shot the arrow, the baby his aim

Slicing the baby’s throat, without a thought or care

 

As the baby lurched in his father’s arms

Husayn moaned at the sight, and Asgher was gone

 

He took his last breath, Husayn held him close

Then he dug a small grave, buried and rose

He cried out in agony, Oh blessed earth

Hold my child safe, away from the foes

 

This is a child of Ali, do not eschew

From the garden of Fatimah, he has come to you

 

Having laid to rest his bruised infant child

To the battlefield the weary Imam arrived

Enrobed in the Prophet’s attire he stood

A noble figure, of all his rights denied

 

The spear of Hamza, Ali’s sword in hand

The Prophet’s armor donned, the leader of his clan

 

How must this day of battle be described?

Words are inadequate, I am no scribe

The desert air scorching with the raging heat

The sands a red hue, pale the blazing sky

 

For a drop of water, every being yearned

The wind rained fire, the very air burned

 

The hot air chafed, the scorched heavens burned

The day seemed to darken, as though seared by the sun

The river of Al-Qama panted in the heat

The water seemed to boil as it bubbled and churned

 

The hot winds swept up the dust in the air

The waves rolled and gasped in the blazing sun’s glare

Animals seeking solace, lay by the river banks

Escaping the heat, to the bottom the fishes sank

Creatures darted in burrows, dark and crusty their skins

The rocks appeared to melt in this barren land

 

Blooms had no color, the grass was not green

Wells had dried up, shying away from the heat

 

Trees and bushes were withered for miles and miles

Each appeared to be roasting under the burning skies

No aroma in flowers, no fragrance in the grass

Stems were buried in thorny piles

 

Such was the heat, life had withered and shrunk

Leaves shriveled and arid, hung on tree trunks

 

Lions in the desert, stayed in their dens

Beasts sheltered in bushes in the roasting glen

The face of the sun marred by clouds of dust

From the heat from the earth, the heavens burned 

 

The entire creation was restless in the sweltering heat

A grain dropped to the sands would be roast indeed

 

In such blazing heat, stood the Imam all alone

Distant the Prophet’s tomb, far away from home

His sight wounded by all that he had seen this day

Lips blue, throat parched, heartbroken and torn

 

He had not had a sip for three long days

His tongue stuck to his palate, words were delayed

 

While the army took its horses to the stream to drink

And camels gulped greedily at the river’s brink

Creatures big and small could the water partake

And the vile soldiers splashed around in the stream

 

To quench someone’s thirst was deemed a noble act

Yet the son of Fatimah stood thirsty alas!

 

To shelter the son of Saad, slaves held a parasol

And servants stood around at his beck and call

Attendants sprinkled water around him to cool the air

And under the blazing sun, Husain stood facing all

 

In the scorching heat, the blistering desert winds

His face tanned by the sun, withered his skin

 

“You can still be saved” hollered the son of Saad cursed

If allegiance you will pledge, we will quench your thirst

I will not, the Imam replied, you must know that by now

Gladly will I bear these burdens first

 

You are a lowly man, a sinner, a wretched soul

For what I hold dear, I will bear sufferings untold

 

Ibrahim I can summon, if my wish were so

Heavenly streams I can beckon, by my feet will flow

You offer me a sip of this earthly drink

Oh how lowly is your being, how little you know

 

So depraved is your existence, so lowly your grade

In your presence all aroma from blooms does fade

 

Jamsheed at my summons will promptly arrive

The fountain of Kauthar will hurry to my side

Jibraeel will descend at my words of command

Bringing an army of angels to aid in my fight

 

I can bring a revolution to this earth in a blink

Cities of Kufa and Shaam will perish in a wink

 

Saying this the Imam unsheathed his sword

The son of Saad retreated, words couldn’t afford

Signaled to the army to rain arrows on Husain

And a million arrows at Husain were hurled

 

Riders with stones, and spears and daggers swarmed

Unfurling their dark banners, rushed towards the Imam

 

They beat their drums wildly, played bugles in an uproar

The clamor was deafening, a tumult arose

The ground shook with turbulence at the thunderous noise

Hurlers of spears marched, clad in black robes

 

Armed to the hilt, thousands marched towards Husain

As though a dark storm raging on the sands

 

Unfazed, undaunted, the Imam faced the army vile

And in fear of the earth’s destruction, Jibraeel arrived

Like a fearless lion, Husain charged through the ranks

Just like Ali he battled, daring, courageous, and wise

 

The Zulfiqaar had been for many years at rest

Now drawn to defend a lonely desert’s guest

 

The blade swung out in a dazzling strike

As though filled with passion to slay the enemy vile

Like a ray of sunlight leaving the sun

Or a man’s last breath when departing from this life

 

As lightening departs from thunderous clouds

Laila let out a cry at the deafening sound

 

Like an eagle, Husain swooped over the army ranks

Fearless as a lion, the enemy hearts sank

Like a streak of lightening he dove into the hordes

Plunging into the battalions, not for moment did he blanch

 

His sword struck at their beings with passion and might

As though a bolt of lightening atop a mountain high

 

Sparks flew as the blade clashed with swords and spears

Slain horse riders fell, eyes filled with fear

At his brandishing sword, panic filled the hordes

Nervously Jibraeel wrapped his wings near

 

The air filled with Husain’s righteous wrath

Under Ali’s banner, his sword cleared his path

 

With every strike his sword slayed an evil soul

It sliced through vile bodies that encircled close

Death followed his strikes, laying waste the hordes

With forbearance the blade fell and arose

 

Saddles slipped off horses, riders plunged to the ground

Pieces of armor lay everywhere, scattered all around

 

His sword gleamed over the swarming throngs

Slaying hundreds of men, clearing ranks a thousand strong

Displacing riders from their horses, fearless, bold

Their foul blood flowed onto the burning ground

 

Their evil souls departed to the shores of death

In pools of blood, they took their last breaths

 

Such valor, such vigor, such fervor grand

Fire rained on the river, blood rained on the sands

Silently it struck, his sword’s message was clear

The still waters roared, shaking the desert land

 

At the sight of his sword, the river cowered, withdrew

The waves flinched at the brandishing sword in view

 

Each wing of the army, in panic disarrayed

Far from the Prophet’s message these people had strayed

The ground quaked, the army in shambles with fright

Bodies scattered in shambles at death’s doorway

 

Banners torn and strewn, men in chaos and dread

Towns lay in upheaval, villagers fled

 

How swift were the strikes of the blessed sword

Slicing through bodies without saying a word

Thirsty for those who had wronged the Imam

It reigned over the field, it chased the herds

 

Piling bodies on the sands, sprayed the heavens with blood

Swiftly rising and falling, bringing death in a flood

 

It was a bearer of death, life fled at its sight

Having lost many loved ones, it roared with might

A righteous slayer, the heathen army it chased

Its head held high, its countenance bright

 

It is said that by truth, falsehood is often chased

Steeped in truth its being, in fury it slayed

 

It struck upon chests, spilling blood to the sands

Lungs punctured and crushed by death’s own hand

Pleas for mercy could be heard from the falling men

Its unleashed fury, no one could withstand

 

Unstoppable its horror, dozens tried and fled

Their ghastly faces eclipsed by dread

 

It swept through the rows without a care

Its blade glinting in the sun, here, there, everywhere

Ensnared by its horror, grown men cried out

Astonished by its swiftness, their fearful eyes glared

 

They knew not which way to run or to hide

Bodies fell to the sands, hundreds died

 

Those on the river banks looked for a way out

Limbs flew in the air, bodies strewn about

They ran helter-skelter, panic gripping their souls

Death was all around, of that there was no doubt

 

No hands to hide faces full of shame

All they could do was run from the scene

 

Such was the effect of Husain’s sword

In awe the stream frozen, waters still at the shore

In sheer panic the evil soldiers sought a place to hide

Gripped by utter fear, shaken to the core

 

Like lightening it strikes, they cried out in dread

The wrath of God unleashed upon us, they said

 

Though protected by scales, fishes cowered in fright

Urgently they swam in the waters wild

Like a whirlpool the stream spun and splashed

And alligators dove to the bottom riled

​

Waters churned in awe at the might of the sword

Waves hot in the heat, stillness couldn’t afford

 

The wrath of God followed the waving blade

Pleas for mercy by the wounded hundreds were made

It sliced through bodies, severed limbs and more

It surged and dropped, to the ground it swayed

 

Each time the sword struck the burning desert floor

The earth called out for help at Abu Turab’s door

 

Those aiming their arrows, in a stampede were crushed

Bodies were trampled in the chaotic rush

Strings of bows snapped, arrows broke apart

Souls fled from bodies, into oblivion thrust

 

Terror gripped their hearts, they fled the battle site

Weapons fell to the sands, as they ran in fright

 

Warriors of renown took to their heels

Their only refuge today, the raging battlefield

Refined in warfare, skilled soldiers of lore

Yet blinded with fright, no valor no zeal

 

Their evil hears in sheer panic’s grip

They grappled frantically, as their arrows slipped

 

Hordes of soldiers onto the sands reeled

Horses toppled over men, men over horses keeled

Fleeing in terror, stampedes galore

Spies tumbling over couriers, couriers on soldiers’ heels

 

Breaking ranks men ran, eyes wide with dread

What a sight to behold, as hundreds fled

 

The Imam’s righteous anger had been unleashed

Over the evil army unfurled, it would not cease

In piles lay the vile men, dead on the sands

In battled today, Ali’s sword had been released

 

Hordes of bodies, limbs everywhere

Heads rolled on the sands, not a spot was bare

 

His sword swept the field, blocking every path

No place to escape its righteous wrath

Arrows or bows of no use today

The army now amidst a massive blood bath

 

They all saw the miraculous, gleaming sword

It stunned their beings, astonished their souls

 

Engulfed in the clamor of the clashing blades

Arrows whizzed in the air, falling in cascades

Piebald horses, mottled in many hues

The turbulence of battle, the scorching sun’s blaze

 

The desert floor burned, no living soul could sustain

Yet none suffered as much on that day as Husain

 

The water bearers in the army cried out to their own

“In the sizzling midday sun, the searing heat has grown

Come douse your thirst, we have water from the stream”

And the evil soldiers rushed towards them in hordes

 

Oh what a wretched day had befallen the earth

Everyone got a drink, as Husain reeled with thirst

 

His flesh dry to the bone, unthinkable his pain

Moans escaped his lips, oh the agony he contained

Eyes squinching at the heat, the sweltering sun

As he charged at the enemies on the friendless terrain

 

His brow gleamed, his being exuded fragrance of lore

Like pearls the droplets falling on to the desert floor

 

Satiated, yet in frenzy as his blade plunged and rose

In panic they sought shelter from the thirsty Imam’s sword

It flashed in their faces, it sliced through their girth

Unstoppable its might, unbearable its blows

 

So magnificent was the sword Husain held that day

Unparalleled in finesse, unmatched in its sway

 

Benumbed at its sight, they looked on in a daze

Grappling at their weapons, in panic, afraid

Hordes in a stampede, arrows found no aim

Bows couldn’t be strung in the mayhem of the day

 

No time to grab an arrow in the crushing chaos

Heads rolled, bodies on the desert floor tossed

 

The neighing of the horses, His flashing sword

Bodies decimated in a hundred rows

Not a single soldier having the will to fight back

Chased by death, they fled in hordes

 

Having come to know well Zulfiqaar’s wrath

Spears scurried away from its hunting path

 

From the pounding of hooves, the air filled with dust

In turbulence, the sand swarming above

It piled on to the men, the horses, the air

Darkening the battlefield, swirling amuck

 

Hiding from view, the fiercely scorching sun

Though just past noon, it appeared the day was done

 

The Imam’s splendor drenched the battlegrounds

His face sunburned, yet radiance abound

His withered, parched lips as though petals of rose

Regal on horseback as Abu Turab crowned

 

He cried out to the fleeing, panicked men

As though a roaring lion, charging out of his den

 

Pleas of mercy arose from the scrambling hordes

God’s wrath had descended with Husain’s sword

On the sands, by the river, he seemed everywhere

A master of the earth, nominated by God

 

“Pray have mercy” they called, they implored, begged

“In the name of Ali Akber” they beseeched, they pled

 

It broke his heart to hear Akber’s name

He reined in his horse, his being filled with pain

Turning to Akber’s body, he called out to his dead son

“Wake up, your father battles on these wretched planes”

 

“In your name they call out for mercy, for grace

How can I deny them? My sword I encase

 

The son of Saad hollered, slapping his thighs

“Having overcome our ranks, He gives up the fight

And too noble of a man to go back on his word”

Hearing this a strapping soldier thundered with might

 

“Here I come” he bellowed, “to attack the Imam”

Oh son of Saad write my name as the victorious one”

 

Towering in stature, obnoxious, proud

Massive, as though built of iron, stout

Delivering death and destruction by arrows and spears

An impregnable shield, undefeated clout

 

Diabolic at the core, with a vicious temperament

Atop his horse, a massive mound, for battle intent

 

Accompanied by an ally just as burly and wild

Forehead twisted in a frown, dark skinned, blue eyed

Vile in character, deceptive at his core

Adept at slaughter, with armies would collide

 

Thirsting for blood, spears ready to aim

Filled with conceit and contempt, carnage their fame

 

Nervous soldiers agitated, uneasy, took flight

Unruly, restless was the evil army with fright

All wondering if Husain will unleash His sword

Marhab once again, it seems, faces Ali’s might

 

Who will win today’s encounter? Who will score high?

Who will prevail today?  Which one will die?

Husain heard the Divine call to engage, to strike

“In the name of Allah Oh Husain, display your might”

His sword rose for battle, gleaming in the air

And he shifted on the saddle, ready for the fight

 

As the bulky behemoth lurched at the Imam

In defense, the Zulfiqar swept at his foul form

 

The soldiers were intent on gaining ground

But the noxious titan glared at Husain’s mount

Like thunder was the clamor of the colliding spears

The pounding of the hooves was a deafening sound

 

The stamping of the horses a formidable sight

The earth in an upheaval at the force and might

 

The conceited beast towards the Imam aimed

And Husain, undaunted, towards him came

As the evil soldier’s spears misfired and fell

He reached for his arrows facing the Zulfiqar’s flame

 

Built to pierce mountains, the potent arrows keeled

No match for Husain’s prowess on the battlefield

 

Frustrated the vile man grabbed a massive mace

Abu Turab’s son turned, anger on his face

And raised His sword at the depraved man

And like thunder it swooped at a lightening pace

 

Defeat grabbed the soldier, Husain prevailed

The man’s arm flew away, leaving a bloody trail

 

He had entered the battlefield, fearless, assured

Yet how can a prey evade death’s grip, its lure?

He grappled at his sword with his remaining arm

And the Zulfiqar fell upon him, its glory galore

 

It dazzled in Husain’s hands, swept and flowed

Slicing the beastly soldier and his horse in one blow

 

Turning then to the other vile man, Husain called

“The wrath of my sword, you have witnessed appalled”

Drunk with conceit, the monstrous man stayed his ground

Nowhere to run, his path death had blocked

 

Summoned to the battle by death, he had come

To face the glorious Imam, to the hellfire succumb

 

And Husain headed towards his noxious form

As though a mighty lion, raging through a storm

The man readied to strike, brutal to the core

The Zulfiqaar struck with a fury he had never known

 

Crushing him on his saddle, effacing the vulgar man

Sinking his flailing horse into the desert sand

 

Astonished, fairies fled their heavenly abode

Lions bolted out of dens, wolves in frenzy froze

Falcons and partridges hunkered down

Fishes jumped out of oceans in fearsome throes

 

Mountains quaked and recoiled, receded in height

The phoenix shed its plumage in quivering fright

 

“Such supreme battle skills” the heavens hailed

“A hand well-suited to hold the Zulfiqaar’s weight

Behold such prestige, such honor, such fame

Valor infused in his being since a suckling babe”

 

“Created to command, to rule above all

Embodying the ultimate finesse of Jehad”

 

“Pray pause oh Husain, seek to battle no more

Take a breath in the wind, halt your stormy sword

Your steed pants with exertion in the raging heat

The hour of Asr approaches, the end is close”

 

“Never a man ravaged with thirst has thus fought

Yet the guardianship of Islam is your calling, your lot”

 

Husain encased his brandished sword and turned

And the fleeing battalions, emboldened, returned

They strung their arrows, grabbed their bows

Raced towards Husain, their banners unfurled

 

The depraved legions turned on the lonesome Imam

Thousands engulfed his being on the desert sands

 

Hundreds of arrows hurtled towards his chest

Gouging his body, piercing his vest

Arrows sliced, embedded, spears cleaved through

An onslaught, a barrage, without a break or rest

 

So many arrows had nested on his noble form

As needles on a porcupine, around him they swarmed

 

Throngs of spears came hurtling at Husain

Mobs of heinous men charged with malice insane

Hundreds of swords brandished, craving his blood

The Prophet’s grandson was in an ocean of pain

 

No helper in sight, no consoler, no friend

No defender, no support, no one to attend

 

Surrounded by thousands, wounded, all alone

Such was the treatment of Fatimah’s son

Lances gashing his thighs, his back, his ribs

Blades laced with poison slashing his form

 

Deranged with rage, they thirsted for his blood

They jostled and swarmed at him in a flood

 

Earlier they had fled the wrath of Husain’s sword

Hearts hardened with sin, some now hurled stones

His face now pale from the distress and wounds

A spear sliced at his throat and he let out a moan

 

As he reached to dislodge the shaft by his neck

An arrow landed nearby, wreaking havoc

 

A three headed spear it was alas

It gouged his throat, his head jolted back

He reached to pull out the embedded blade

To extricate spears, in the midst of the attack

 

Blood gushed from his wounds, poured into his hands

He lurched on his saddle, swayed on the desert sands

 

Among the mob around him, Salmi was one such man

He gashed Husain’s head with a spear in his hand

And with an arrow the Son of Anas stabbed Husain

Into Husain’s waist another spear was slammed

 

From the force of the ambush, Husain convulsed on horseback

In utter distress, the Prophet’s tomb in Madina cracked

 

His feet left the stirrups, on the saddle he reeled

Towards the burning sands his body keeled

His body ridden with spears, bloodied and gashed

The amama falling to the ground as he bent over his knees

 

Alas, the Quran itself on to the ground plunged

The Holy Kaaba shuddered, the heavens lunged

 

And cries of Fatimah ripped through the winds

“Dear father, the Ummah has betrayed your kin

Who do they call?  To whom should they turn?

Such ruthless ferocity, pray what was his sin?”

 

“Nineteen hundred wounds, his body gashed and torn

Zainab rush to his side, there is no other to mourn”

 

And Ali’s daughter parted the door of the tent

Distraught with grief, heart broken, back bent

Her eyes searching the field, crying out for Husain

“Oh Karbala, where does my brother lie in torment?”

 

“Oh mother my body is heavy with grief

Take my hand and lead me to my brother please”

 

“Cloaked by agony, I am blinded by grief

Pray show me the way to where Husain sleeps

Where is the wounded Syed? Oh mother lead me

Where is he to be slaughtered?  Where must I weep?”

 

“My heart burns with anguish, in torment I plead

I hear Husain’s voice whispering my name indeed”

 

“He calls out to me ‘Zainab, pray do not lament

I depart this world, you must return to your tent’

The Prophet’s kin are besieged, no friend in sight

Oh Ali, I call upon you in this hour of torment”

 

“Pray rush to save Husain, do not leave him alone

Oh Fatimah you must hide him in the folds of your cloak”

 

Thus Zainab wailed for the brother she adored

And Husain was beheaded on the desert floor

The vile hordes taunted and shrieked in glee

And yet she ran through their numbers searching for him more

 

At last she found him, lifeless under the sun’s blaze

On the tip of a spear his bloodied head raised

 

Throwing herself at him, in anguish she wailed

“Oh my Syed, how I cherish your beautiful face

Oh son of Ali, your sister weeps at your loss

How can I see your throat slashed with a blade?”

 

“Keeping your wow to Allah, you took your last breath

Your lips whispering His name even in death”

 

“I pay homage to you, in reverence I bow

Amidst sobs and wails, your name I call

Say my name once more, I yearn to hear

Tell me how I go on living without you now?”

 

“Only death will now relieve me from this searing pain

For as long as I live, I will call out your name”

 

“Where do I find you Husain? Where do I go?

How do I console my heart?  What do I do?

Where do I find solace?  Who do I call?

In this strange land, surrounded by foes”

 

“My world is shattered, desolation abounds

Where is my refuge?  The home I knew is gone”

 

“Alas, I should have died and you should have lived

You endured the beheading.  How did that feel?

And she heard Husain say “Do not ask of this”

“Despite the pain, my gratitude to Allah I give”

 

“My bruised and battered body no longer in pain

Yet the pain of our parting, my soul contains”

 

“They will now set on fire our belongings and tents
Yet utter thanks to Allah, do not complain

When the tents are on fire, smoke everywhere

Pray protect my Sakina from the misery and pain”

 

“She is bewildered at what her eyes have seen today

 They will bind her arms, protect her, I pray”

 

Stop now oh Anees, say not a word more

The world will remember these lines you wrote

The pen shudders at the words written here today

Words cherished by hearts, people will quote

 

These gatherings to mourn for Husain will stay

All creation will grieve him until doomsday

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