The month of Muharam has past, now Arbaeen comes knocking, And many a caravans I see to your land flocking. With every passing day my heart yearns, The desire to visit you, in my heart it burns. With every lover of yours that I bid farewell, My heart cries out when O when will I as well, Be honoured to visit this blessed place, And rub the dust of your grave on my face. Shaban, Arafah, Aashura, Arbaeen, Each time, each month, I have the same dream. To visit you my master, the chief of all martyrs, And to pay my regards, to your brother al-Abbas. But like a restless bird captured in a cage, My heart flutters madly, not at all sage. With every missed caravan, my heart breaks, With every lost opportunity, my heart aches. This broken heart, only you can mend, This injured heart, only your love can tend. By the coming Arafah, by the coming Aashura, I beg you, O Husayn, call me to Karbala. You are the son of the generous one, Whod never, a beggar, empty-handed turn. Just like your lovers who from Najaf tread, After visiting your father and are by angels led, To your land, your kingdom, I too want to be led. By the coming Arafah, by the coming Aashura, I beg you, O Husayn, call me to Karbala. Labayk Ya Hussein!!
Posted on: Sun, 30 Nov 2014 08:00:44 +0000
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