Ashura 2006

Every Day is Ashura, Every Land is Karbala

The Battle of Karbala
A Marthiyaa of Anis, translated into English verse by David Matthews, Rupa Co.
The sun had run his journey o'er the night;
Unveiled, the Dawn revealed her glorious face.
The King who rides the heavens saw her light
And called his brave companions to their place.
'The time has come at last; to God give praise;
Arise! In fitting prayer your voices raise.
Brave hearts! For strife and slaughter dawns this day;
Here the blood of Muhammad's race will flow.
'Zahra's darling, honoured, seeks the fray;
The night of parting fades 'neath union's glow.
'We are those for whom the angels weep;
To live this day we sacrificed our sleep...

And here amid the thorns the Prophet's flowers
Imparted fragrance to the desert lands;
The house of Fatima faced its last hours
In the garden planted by Muhammad's hands
This garden cut down in those ten sad days,
By traitors wasted, cruelly set ablaze...

Here sad laments and pleading supplication;
But there oppression, cruelty, wicked deeds.
Umar, son of Sa'ad cried, 'Keep your station!
Watch the river, guard the banks and meads !
Husain is without water for two days.
Let him not drink a drop until he pays...'

Baqir rests, Sakina is in a swoon;
This feverish heat our babies has oppressed.
In tears they sleep, their faces like the moon,
Weak from hunger. Where to give them rest?
Theirs is no fault. Why do these arrows rain?
They seek the coolness of the breeze in vain...'

Suddenly arrows rained upon the horde.
Husain advanced and pleaded with his foe.
His thirsty friends came to protect their Lord;
They struck the Syrian force and laid it low.
With swords held high, the fight was underway
All strove like Malik Ushtar in the fray...

'Mid dead and dying stood the lone Imam.
The Prophet's cloak was soaked in crimson gore.
Dejected, anxious, thirsty, in alarm,
He heard their victory drums; the enemies' roar
Proclaiming slaughtered martyrs broke his heart;
It pierced his spirit like a poisoned dart.

Only he who grieves can understand.
The garden of life's toil now wasted lay.
No rest from lamentations cruel hand
The lamps were out that once burnt bright as day.
Scattered limbs exposed to seering heat;
On Ali Akbar's corpse there was no sheet.
The King of the Age moved slowly to the tent;
He could not bring his thirsty lips to speak.
Lifting the flap, he cried: 'My heart is rent!
My sister, it is Asghar that I seek.
Now bring him from his cradle to the door
I long to see his moon-like face once more.'

But now enough! No more, Husain! No more!'
Tis time to rest. The horse pants from the heat.
The time for prayer draws nigh.
The battle's roarIs over now for thee.
No more! Retreat!No one can fight thus, thirsty in the throng.
Attend to thy dear kin, and soothe their wrong.'

Sheathing his sword, the King; cried: 'I obey!'!
'The Day of Judgement came upon the world.
The enemy stood like animals at bay.
Their arrows fixed, their standard's flag unfurled.
Husain stood helpless. See and you will know
Your helpless Lord alone before his foe!

Ten thousand arrows dashed upon his chest;
A hundred at one time sought out their prey.
The spears transfixed his side and pierced his breast;
Ten stuck for every four he pulled away.
The Shadow of the Lord was filled with spines,
Like needles in the backs of porcupines.

From all directions arrows poured like rain;
Assassins rushed with spears and daggers bared.
Such pain befell Husain. Such pain! Such pain!
The one who on the Prophet's lap was reared.
No one to pluck the arrows from his chest.
No one to lift him to his place of rest.

To read the Poem in its entirety click here: The Battle of Karbala