Born and Raised in Karbala

We’re born and raised… with only his love to gain
All that’s in us… are servants toward Hussain

* * *

We those who live in absence… of all riches and all wealth
Amongst such poverty where… worth more than gold is man’s health

For to be called his lovers… comes at a price this title
As the rulings of tyrants… our livelihood belittle

Yes it may be an honour… but what else with us remains?
And truly what do we have… beside our Lord and Hussain?

Do not tell me… how my life I should have lived
All that’s in us… are servants toward Hussain

* * *

I was taught from a young age… Hussain is your salvation
I gifted him this same age… my household and my children

I do not know destiny… nor does success know of me
But I know Hussain I owe… and in return he’d owe me

That’s why I gift all I have… my passing days and money
And my hands thread this service… like the bee weaves its honey

Don’t frown on me… when you see me sweat for him
All that’s in us… are servants toward Hussain

* * *

Poverty is our household… and all we have is Hussain
All that he wants we embrace… from what he hates we abstain

In the absence of all things… he is the crown on our head
Why our women are widowed… why our wounds rivers have bled

And jealous is the world’s eye… that we’ve discovered purpose
Which is why we are murdered… and they hurt and oppress us

Rivers our blood… have flowed by a tyrant’s hand
All that’s in us… are servants toward Hussain

* * *

In the absence of this world… we live in its silhouette
Men of power they see us… a third world on its outset

But they don’t know our riches… for we sleep next to a king
He who guides all our conduct… and to us Heaven shall bring

He who’s dome when its beauty… is imprinted in one’s eye
They wish to be in our place… and daily next to him cry

O’ visitor… your envy is our sceptre
All that’s in us… are servants toward Hussain

* * *

When the sound of drums deafens… and all come angels in white
With the blood once in our veins… the letters Hussain we write

For this is the saint so selfless… when no-one else for us cares,
Shed his own blood and his head… raised on a spear amongst spears

So do not deny our dreams… for nothing else do we own
Let the blood of our veins flow… upon our own welded crown

For that defines… my life and my destiny
All that’s in me… a servant toward Hussain

* * *

(London – 29/05/11)

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