Remembering Hazrat Ali Akbar (A)

9^th Muharram

Excerpt from 'Maqtal al-Husayn':

He inherited the merits his legacy
From every valiant warrior and brave
In Hamzah's might, in Hayder's bravery
In al-Husayn's loftiness, in Ahmad's dignity
Good in make and in conduct,
Wise in speech like the Prophet Ahmad.

He assaults the regiments as the ground closes in on them
All because of his fiery might,
So he forcibly sends them back on their tails
In his might he resembles the angry lion.

He returns to bid farewell, and he is heavy-hearted,
His heart is thirsty, his iron is heavy,
His insides burn, his sword's thirst is quenched with dew,
But his own thirst was not, mind you.
Yet he with his saliva preferred him over his own self
Had only his saliva not dried yet.
As soon as he was bent to meet his death with a smile,
Death, from his ears and sight, stayed only for a while.
He turned the battle around and moved its grinding stone,
With his sword he struck their flesh and their bone,
With his withered shoulders he meets their braves
And places his sword in the necks of their knaves,
While on his body it leaves its mark
From their midst he disappeared and did not come back,
Mounting his steed though almost bear.
Time stumbled on him, so his body now
Is food for every sword and every bow.

He wiped out shame, Allah fight the shame
A crescent in the dark, a shining one
The one sought by both houses of Hashim
The haven of both honour and loftiness
How could death to you reach?
You have not hesitated nor tarried.
May my life be for him a sacrifice
Like a fresh flower that dried
In the ocean of thirst and the heat of the sword.
Early did witherness visit his fresh flower,
Withering is the foe of a fresh flower.
By Allah! What a moon on them did he shine!
The sword mixed his substance with its gold,
The water of youth and the blood both flew
Within him, and his heart was still on fire.
Never shall I him forget
How he was turbaned with the youth of the deer
Among the warriors, wearing only their every spear,
Drenched in blood was he yet the Euphrates was
Turning green what was still black.

My heart goes for the ladies of the Prophet
When thus they saw him in that condition.
Their wailing and their cries did intensify
So the minds and the souls were baffled by their cry.
The wise ladies mourned their protector
And so did virtues and merits.
My heart goes for her when she seeks
The Messenger's help,
The mountains were almost to disappear.
My heart goes for her since she lost
The one she could depend on,
And how can anyone equal the one she lost?
Who can in honour equal the one who was
Like in manners Yasin, like in form Taha?
O Allah help his father when
The light of al-Akbar went out.
He at the Taff saw the Friend of Allah from Mina,
The one whom he sacrificed was now
Sought by the swords.
He was mourned by what can be seen and what cannot
From the zenith of the ‘Arsh
To the deepest of the earth
He was mourned by the master of all creation.
For his calamity was indeed the greatest of all.
He was mourned by the eyes of guidance and uprightness
And by the one appointed as the wasi.

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