When you sit beside the river and listen closely,
the Euphrates speaks to you only in eulogies of Aale-Hussain.
Ask her what she saw on that treacherous day,
and she will reply with a line from her heart-wrenching poetry;
shredding your heart into pieces,
as she eloquently recites,
God is indeed The Most Wise; The Best of Planners.
When you gaze down at the earth beside you,
for you will hear Karbala lament over the tragedy that took place on her chest,
leaving her ribs broken and wounded till this very day,
like Imam Hussain’s mother; Hadhrat Fatima (as)
But she pleads, “don’t cry over me,
for my Mawla’s chest was trampled upon even more mercilessly
by the thousands of hooves of God’s enemies.”
When your scarf blows in the wind
by an agitated breeze,
listen as she whispers and recites
the Ziyarat of Ashura in the ears of passersby.
Mourning what her eyes had fallen upon that day.
Leaving her blinded from incessant weeping,
like Ya’qub over his son.
And when you look up at the sky,
follow her eyes as she directs you to the place her Mawla was struck.
With dark bags under her eyes from her grief-stricken heart,
she hums the melodies and prayers
The Women of Aale-Hussain recited to calm the children.