Allow my dust to embrace you,
let me drink your tears,
Time hasn’t healed my wounds,
and neither have the years.
Lamentations have left me thirsty,
Longing for blood I once savoured, drank, bathed in.
Longing for bravery’s blood, for patience’s blood,
hero’s blood, a brother’s blood,
The blood of an infant.
Imagine the sweet anguish, of flesh caressing my face,
The choir of metal screaming has blinded my ears,
And the sight of martyrs departing, has deafened my eyes.
My heart thinks Abbas, and my mind feels his brother.
Mind and heart were scattered, along with the disintegrated bodies,
Of Hussein and his children,
And the flag bearer,
below the desert’s sun.
Would that I had swallowed myself up, along with the murderers,
The defamers and traitors.
Would that I had shielded my master,
And dried the eyes of my lady.
Yet I had no hand in the sacred adventure,
For the One above all sands
The one above all hands,
Chose for Hussain not death,
But life eternal.
So I was washed with purity , for what I’d witnessed.
Miraculous, honoured, dear I had become
The only condition being that I
Would forever tell the story
Of all the hurt and all the sorrow,
of the Prophets’s grandson.
I deserve, no, I demand, my due respect, then.
But since the ultimate oppression,
I, too, have been oppressed.
Oppressed to drink more of it,
More martyr’s blood,
To add to the cup, full to the brim.
No swords, today, but dynamite,
Murdering the lovers of the Hashimites.
Tearing my visitors apart,
And once again, my heart.
Where is Hussain, where is Hussain, I ask,
As Ruqaya for her father asked,
I too, of protection, am in need,
As devoted ,
Walking with bare feet,
Are my guests everyday.
Allow dust to embrace you,
To offer my condolences,
For the sweet smell of Hussain
Lingers yet on my sands,
On my lips and on my hands,
Treasurable as ever.
Allow my dust to shroud you,
I’ll hold you in my arm
And tell you of the melancholy
Of al Karbe wal Balaa’